


Etched on Your Skin

by CelticAurora



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bisexual Male Characters, Dual Storyline, Immortality, Lovers to Friends, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Attempted Suicide, Past Relationship(s), Polyamorous Character, Polyamorous relationship, Poor Familial Relationships, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:38:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5907103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticAurora/pseuds/CelticAurora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rowan Walsh walked into a London bar in 1971, he had no idea his soul would forever be tied to the lonely son of a bitch sitting at the end of the bar counter. He was everything Elias Kersley was not, but Elias was all he wanted. They have eighteen years as lovers, and forty-five as friends and bandmates for the wildly popular indie rock band The Lunar Contagions.</p><p>2016. After a show in Pittsburgh, Elias runs off, refusing to answer his phone. The whole band is worried, but no one more so than Rowan. God only knows what will become of Elias if he's not found before the night's over. </p><p>As Rowan combs Pittsburgh to find his best friend, the missing part of his soul, he thinks back to all the years he's shared with Elias and hopes that this night will not mark the end of that time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pittsburgh - January 2016, 11:37 PM

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queenaramis (ladyofbearisland)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=queenaramis+%28ladyofbearisland%29).



> I've had this one in a holding pattern for quite some time now, waiting for [queenaramis](http://http://archiveofourown.org/users/queenaramis/pseuds/queenaramis) to receive their copy of this before I put it up on the internet. I really hope you guys enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Warning, this story is not for the faint of heart, as you might have seen by the tags. If there are any more that I remember, I'll update the tags.
> 
> Will be updated daily, broken down by the individual sections of the actual story. I would post it all as one, but literally, this is over 22K. 
> 
> Title inspired by James Blunt's "1973"

Jocelyn was chewing her nails.

In the past eleven or so years, Rowan had never lived any more than ten miles from Jocelyn, with the exceptions of the times where she and Lukas went back overseas to visit his parents in Romania. Hell, on tours, Rowan lived barely ten feet from Jocelyn. He knew all of her habits. He knew the habits of all of his bandmates, and they knew his.

Jocelyn only ever chewed her nails when she was exceedingly nervous or worried.

He couldn’t blame her, though. He felt like chewing his nails clean off and maybe not even stopping there. Not after how Elias had run out during the meet-and-greet event. Not after seeing how pale he was, how freaked-out he looked. Not after the hour of silence that had followed.

He’d called Elias four times in the past hour, and texted him twice as many times. Nothing. Now, he was really starting to get worried. He sat down next to Jocelyn, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. She looked at him, green eyes wide and worried.

“Did he answer?” she asked, seeing his phone in his hands.

He shook his head. “No, afraid not.”

“Oh, God,” she moaned. “Rowan, what if something bad happened to him?”

“He’s alright, I’m sure,” Rowan said – though, to be honest, he _wasn’t_ sure. “He probably just went for a walk or something. To calm himself down. He knows what he’s supposed to do to calm himself down when he gets like that.”

Take his meds and do something – anything – to get his mind off of it. Walks were his favorites. But he always answered his phone on walks; after he’d forgotten to answer it a few times and gotten chewed out by the entire band, he made sure he always answered. The silence from him now was unnerving. As was the fact that his pill sorter, resting on the bathroom counter, looked untouched.

Rowan glanced to the corner of the room. Camila, their manager, was pacing, ear to the phone, speaking quietly but firmly to whoever was on the other end of the line. Lukas stood nearby, having just gotten off the phone as well, watching their manager talk and rubbing his stubbly chin, his entire body tense. He was worried too, Rowan could tell. After what felt like forever, though, Camila hung up the phone, stuffing it into the pocket of her blazer, clearly well-aware that she now had four sets of eyes on her and they all demanded answers.

“I spoke to the chief of Pittsburgh’s PD,” she said – though it was clear from the look on her face she’d had to do a bit of arguing and threatening to get to speak to the chief. “Normally, they don’t start searching for a missing person, or even call it a missing persons case, until twenty-four hours has passed. But, given Elias’s, ah…”

She faltered, something she never did unless it was on the subject of Elias’s mental health. Rowan sighed.

“Given the shitty state of his mental health, they were willing to compromise so we don’t find him dead somewhere?”

Jocelyn’s eyes filled with tears, and Lukas gasped. Even Camila and Colin looked shocked by his bluntness on the subject – and he felt bad, having put it that way. At this point, however, he’d dealt with Elias’s mental health for so long, there was little else he could greet the low points with but worry and resignation.

“As Rowan so indelicately put it, yes,” Camila said. “They’re on the lookout for him – and we should be, too.”

“Well, let’s hit the pavement, then, what are we waiting for?” Lukas asked, grabbing his jacket.

Rowan nodded, standing. He’d remembered seeing at least three bars in almost immediate vicinity to their venue for the night. Knowing Elias, that was as good a place to start as any.


	2. London - April 1971

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan's stop for a drink goes in an unexpected direction.

Rowan’s trainers squeaked as he trod into the bar, giving his head a shake that was more dog-like than anything else. He had hoped for sunnier skies in the capitol city, but no, it appeared London was just as wet and dreary as Manchester. He could only hope that his battered, well-traveled duffle was still as water-resistant as it had been the day it was handed to him by his commanding officer, because he didn’t much fancy the idea of trying to line-dry everything in some seedy hotel room – or worse, deal with the indignity of soaking-wet underwear.

The bar was small, but well-lit and well-kept, gleaming bottles of booze lined up nearly behind the counter. A small, boxy telly had been wedged onto a shelf; squinting at the staticky picture, he could make out what looked like a football game. There wasn’t much of a crowd in the bar, either. A few people had parked at squat tables around the bar, carrying on conversation over soggy, greasy appetizers. A group of blokes was crowded at the center of the bar, yelling greetings and punching each other in the arm. And, he noticed, seated at the far end of the bar was a lone man with a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a full shot glass in front of him. As Rowan watched, he contemplated the shot, then snatched it and threw it back without a second thought.

Rowan figured he’d rather take his chances with the lonely sonofabitch over the obnoxious group of blokes. He slung his bag over his shoulder, approaching the end of the bar and eyeballing the seat next to the man.

“This seat taken?”

The man turned to face him, expression impassive. He was probably about thirty, his hair dark-brown and curling slightly as it dried from the rain outside, brushing the collar of his button-down shirt. He had a thick but well-kept beard and mustache and a downturn to his lips that hinted at disapproval. It was his eyes, however, that caught Rowan’s attention the most, the blue-gray color of the Atlantic after a storm, staring up at him with a flat sort of look to them – he wasn’t drunk, there was a spark of lucidity to them, but it was a dead feeling, almost like he was weary of the world beyond his years.

“It’s open,” he said quietly – so quiet his answer almost went unheard over the tossers shouting and Rod Stewart crooning from the radio. Nodding gratefully, Rowan plunked down on the barstool, dropping his duffle to the floor. His new drinking buddy nudged the half-empty bottle towards him. “Whiskey?”

“Mmm, thanks mate.” Rowan reached behind the bar and snatched a shot glass while the bartender wasn’t looking, pouring himself a shot that he threw back quickly, then another. It wasn’t until he was pouring his third shot that he realized he probably seemed like an ingrate and he turned to the other man, offering his hand. “Sorry. Rowan Walsh.”

The man eyed his hand for a moment, then took it. “Elias Kersley.”

As his hand touched Elias’s, a jolt of something went through Rowan, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Instinctively, he took a sniff – under the smell of smoke and grease and body odor, he thought he smelled something, a familiar sort of scent…but he couldn’t be certain. He glanced up at Elias, wondering if he had felt anything, but found his face still blank. They dropped hands, and Rowan desperately scrambled for a thread of conversation.

“Come here often?”

“Enough that the bartender knows my drink preferences. It changes, depending on the day.” A corner of his mouth twitched up in a smirk. “And my mood.”

“Sounds like he’s a proper therapist, then.”

Elias took the bottle of whiskey, filling his glass. “You have no idea.”

“Where d’you wanna start? War flashbacks? Troubled childhood? The crippling disapproval from your family about your life decisions?”

He’d meant it as a joke – sort of – but fell silent quickly when Elias turned to stare at him with an unreadable expression. For a long moment, he was almost certain he was going to get punched, most likely in the face. Finally, Elias quirked an eyebrow, though Rowan couldn’t say whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Are you talking about me or yourself?”

Rowan shrugged. “Either or?”

“Kid, you’re not old enough to be having war flashbacks.”

“Kid?” Rowan bristled at the term. “Oh come off it, I’m only a couple years younger than you.”

Elias snorted. “Trust me, you’re not.”

That prickled Rowan’s curiosity. Could it be that the feeling he got earlier, from shaking Elias’s hand, actually meant something? The man’s comment left him with an odd sort of feeling – the feeling that, much like himself, Elias might not have been entirely human.

“How old are you?” Rowan asked.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Do you really want to know?”

Elias smirked, filling his glass again. “Humor me.”

“Fifty, come November.”

Elias, glass to his mouth, choked on his whiskey, coughing and sputtering, drawing the attention of the tossers at mid-bar and the bartender. Rowan waved them off, turning his attention back to Elias, who was breathing hard and staring at him, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

“You’re _shitting_ me,” he breathed.

“Shit you not,” Rowan said with a shrug. He would never have dared to be this honest if not for the nagging feeling he had that there was more to Elias Kersley than met the eye.

“No. No.” Elias shook his head, turning his attention back to the bottle of whiskey. “You’re definitely shitting me.”

“Oh, come off it,” Rowan said, rolling his eyes. “What reason would I have to lie to some drunk, sexy bastard I just met in a bar?”

Elias stiffened, cheeks turning pink, and Rowan realized exactly what he’d said. He wasn’t lying about the sexy part – sure, he was bordering on mountain man with the hair and beard, but somehow, the look suited him. Rowan certainly wouldn’t have protested to a night in his bed…which he’d just all but openly confessed. He couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous – sure, people were more open about sexuality now, what with the whole free-love deal, but…people were still wary of _too much_ free love. Blokes who liked blokes could only be found in the right time at the right place, and some of them, Rowan had found, didn’t take all that well to the fact that Rowan equally fancied the gents and the ladies.

_Boy,_ he thought, studying Elias’s unreadable face, _this is going to be really awkward if he’s straight…_

“Can’t say I’d use the word ‘sexy’ to describe myself, but…thanks for the compliment,” Elias finally said, cheeks still pink. “And I’m not drunk, thank you. That comes later.”

“Not drunk?” Rowan’s eyes darted to the whiskey bottle. “Christ, mate, that’s almost empty! You can’t be human - !”

Elias’s hand clamped over his mouth with surprising strength, cutting off the very end of his sentence. He had turned on his stool, and now, his face was less than six inches from Rowan’s, their eyes locked together.

“Do you have a death wish?” Elias hissed. “I know times have changed and they got rid of the witch-hunts and all that, but this is not the time and the place for a conversation like that.”

This close, with Elias’s hand pinned over his mouth, there was no mistaking that smell. And now that they were that close, Rowan couldn’t see how he’d missed everything else: The sharp lines of his teeth and the point to his canines, the hungry set of his jaw, the faint golden tinge to his irises.

Elias was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, a werewolf.

Rowan gently pulled away from Elias, eyes wide, hardly able to believe what was happening. “You _are_ , aren’t you?”

Elias sighed. “Yes. I am. But then again, so are you, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah…” Rowan studied Elias, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. He hadn’t met but one other werewolf in almost thirty years of being one: His own sire, and he had not been impressed with the sallow, gaunt wreck of a werewolf that had made him. To see a werewolf like Elias, whole and groomed even in his human skin, was astonishing. “You’re…amazing.”

Elias snorted. “I’m nothing special.”

“No, but you are!” Rowan protested. “I’ve not seen another like you. I mean, I’ve met another before, but that bastard was a sad sack who looked like a strong breeze could have keeled him over, and you! You’re…”

“Nothing special,” Elias repeated, pouring himself another shot, a note of finality in his voice.

Rowan huffed out a sigh. Clearly, his excitement did nothing to improve Elias’s mood, and despite his insistences, he wasn’t going to convince the other werewolf that he was, in fact, something special. He watched Elias put the bottle back down, holding his shot at eye-level and staring at it, not drinking it.

“So,” Rowan drawled, trying to keep the conversation going, “you live around here?”

“I have a flat, about three blocks from here,” Elias answered, tipping back the shot and turning to face Rowan. “Are you inviting yourself over?”

“If you’ll have me?”

Elias considered him for a moment, and finally, a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You know what? I think I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to know more about Elias, Rowan, and the rest of the Lunar Contagions? [Drop me a line!](http://celticwildechild.tumblr.com/ask)


	3. Pittsburgh - January 2016, 12:52 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan finds himself a little extra help for his search.

“Come on you little bastard, pick up…pick up…”

Heedless to his pleas, the phone continued to ring, the sound jangling Rowan’s already-fragile nerves. He sighed, leaning against the corner of the bar he’d just left, running a hand through his hair and trying not to pull it out.

There was a click, and Rowan’s heart jumped into his throat. “Elias - ?”

“Hello, you’ve reached Elias Kersley.” Rowan could have slammed his head into the wall. Fucking voicemail again. “I’m not available right now, but if you leave a message and your name, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can – ”

Rowan hung up with a growl, stuffing his phone into his pocket. He had been worried before, but now? _Now_ , he was panicking.

Jocelyn, who was staying behind at the hotel in case Elias showed back up, had called him not ten minutes after he’d left. The minibar in the room she, Lukas, and Elias were sharing was empty. It had been full before they’d left for the show. Rowan knew damn well who emptied it, too.

So now Elias was somewhere in a city none of them knew that well, in January with no jacket on – his jacket was back at the hotel – mentally and emotionally out-of-sorts and probably drunk. Rowan pressed his forehead to the brick side of the building, still just barely resisting the urge to slam his head into it repeatedly.

Deep in his pocket, “Sexyback” started playing. Cursing, heart leaping into his nasal cavity, Rowan dug his phone out of his pocket and hit the green button, putting the phone to his ear without even looking at the caller ID.

“You absolute fucking wanker, do you have any idea how worried we’ve - ?”

“Rowan?”

He groaned. “Sorry, Alexsei.”

“It’s alright.” Alexsei sounded calm as ever on the other end of the phone, and right now, Rowan couldn’t help but hate him for it. “Still no word, I guess?”

“Nothing. I keep trying to call him but it just goes to voicemail.” Rowan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He’s lost. He’s emotionally trashed. And I’m willing to bet he’s drunk, too.”

“That’s why I’m coming. I’ll know where to find him. How to track him.”

“Well, not to be rude, but…how much good will that do us? You’re still, what, three hours away? Who knows what could happen between now and then?”

“I’ll be in Pittsburgh in an hour or so. Possibly less.”

“Wait…really? We only called you an hour ago!” Rowan had been in the room when Lukas had put out the call to their long-time friend, who also happened to be Elias’s sire, as it were – and the best person to track him. “Christ, Alexsei, you must have been hauling some serious ass.”

“I wasn’t in D.C. when you called,” Alexsei said. “I was in Cleveland.”

“Cleveland?”

“Council business.” Alexsei cleared his throat, suddenly sounding a bit sheepish. “Mauritzia wasn’t too happy that I had to dash so suddenly…”

“With all due respect to Councilwoman Albescu, we all know she’s a bit of a frigid bitch.”

“Rowan!”

“Oh, come off it, Alexsei, Lukas is her own grandson and he admits it.”

“At any rate,” Alexsei cut in, tone firm – the doctor voice that everyone knew not to argue with. “I will be there as soon as I can. In the meantime, you guys keep looking for Elias. I’ll be in touch, all right?”

“All right.” Rowan hung up the phone, stuffing it back into his jeans and heaving a sigh. He had thought, upon realizing it was Alexsei was on the phone, that talking to him would help. He was on his way. He was coming to help. He was going to help them find Elias.

But nothing, it seemed, could dissipate the knot of worry in Rowan’s gut.

He started off down the street again, thinking of hitting the next bar. He couldn’t help but think it a little futile, though – Elias had been gone for more than two hours now, and had, in the time between, likely gotten drunk enough that any responsible bartender would have turned him out immediately. But where Elias would have gotten to from there was anyone’s guess – and Pittsburgh was not a small city. Walking it, desperately hoping to find Elias, could take all night – and what could happen in the meantime was what scared the shit out of Rowan. He cursed, kicking a rock on the sidewalk, which flew until it bounced off the front bumper of someone’s shoddy-looking car.

A car…why the hell hadn’t he thought of it before? Driving around Pittsburgh would have been faster…but where the hell was Rowan going to get a car? It was midnight; any rental-car place would have been closed, and Rowan didn’t have any friends in the city he could call up and beg to borrow their car.

The thought of hot-wiring the car crossed his mind. He had done it before; it had been years ago, in Germany, with a squad of Nazis bearing down on his platoon. He could probably do it again.

But if he got caught…

A taxi pulled up to the curb, disgorging its passengers, a trio of college girls dressed as scantily as they could be in the cold weather. In the minute he stood there, watching them get out, it occurred to him that while it was not ideal, it was, unfortunately, the best option. He half-climbed, half-threw himself into the backseat, startling the cab driver up front.

“Look, mate, I know this is going to sound strange, but I need you to…just drive,” he said. “I’ve lost my best friend and I don’t know where the hell he might have gone…I just need you to drive.”

The cabbie nodded, looking confused – and perhaps a bit frightened – and pulled back into traffic. Rowan rolled the window down, leaning his head out, eyes scanning the crowds on the sidewalk for Elias.

This wasn’t ideal. But it was faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I was late posting this chapter, I've posted two chapters today.
> 
> Questions about Rowan and Elias or the Lunar Contagions? [Drop me a line!](http://celticwildechild.tumblr.com/ask)


	4. Cornwall - June 1973

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan relives the worst days of his life - and questions what's eating his boyfriend.

“Never would have pegged you as the camping sort.”

Elias shrugged, tapping one of the tent stakes into the ground. “I’m a man of many surprises, you’ll find.”

“The venue was a bit of a surprise, too,” Rowan commented, shielding his brow with his hand, looking out over the cliff they were on, to the crashing surf below. “I suppose I always saw you as a woods type of person.”

“I was,” Elias said succinctly, beckoning Rowan back over to help finish pitching the tent. “But I thought maybe it was time for a change of scenery. Besides…right here, we’ve got a great view.”

“Great view of what? The sea?”

“Well, yes. But also that,” Elias said, gesturing over Rowan’s shoulder.

“Eh?” Rowan turned around, realizing that Elias was gesturing to a large, stony ruin several miles away. He wrinkled his nose. “That old castle?”

“ _Old castle_?” Elias looked offended. “That’s _Tintagel_. Please, sweet Christ, tell me you know what Tintagel is.”

“Course I do. King Arthur and all that bollocks,” Rowan said with a shrug.

“Bollocks? You’re a poet. I thought poets wanked off to abandoned castles and all that.”

“I’m not a poet, I write poetry,” Rowan corrected. “Being a poet would imply I got paid for that shit.”

“You probably could, you know. Get paid for your poetry. Publish a book of it or something.”

Rowan shrugged. “Eh. Maybe. Doubt any shop would carry it.”

“Well,” Elias drawled, “I happen to know this bloke, he works at a bookshop. Bit shaggy looking, but easily the most competent employee there, and I’m sure he’d be honored to display your book of poetry in the shop window…”

“Smarmy little bugger,” Rowan chuckled, leaning over to kiss Elias. “I love you when you’re smarmy.”

“I aim to please.” He gave the stakes one final tap, to make sure they were secure in the ground. “Well, camp’s set up. Now, for the reason we came here…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rowan picked up his knapsack, trudging after Elias. “You and those bloody ruins…”

They spent all afternoon exploring the ruins of Tintagel, Elias explaining the intricacies of Arthurian legend with a look of delight on his face the likes of which Rowan hadn’t seen in the nearly two years he’d been dating him. They poked around on the beach a bit, barefooted and with their pants rolled up to their knees. For a while, they walked in the sand, warmed by the June sun but not to the point that it was scorching. After that, they stood at the tideline and let the waves wash over their feet. Rowan, surprisingly delighted by their mid-week getaway, was in such a good mood that he didn’t even mind when a larger-than-expected wave came crashing in and soaked their pants all the way up to their bums. In fact, he found it delightful, particularly when he discovered that Elias had been wearing dark-colored boxers under his khaki pants.

After a dinner in town, they returned to the campsite; it was dark, but instead of retreating to the interior of the tent, they unzipped Rowan’s sleeping bag and spread it over the ground, laying on it and covering themselves with Elias’s sleeping bag. Rowan lay on his back, staring up at the starry  night sky, one hand cradled under his head, the other carding through Elias’s hair; Elias was curled up against Rowan, head resting on his chest, arm draped over his waist and eyes closed.

“This was a good idea,” Rowan said. “Really glad you came up with it.”

“I thought so,” Elias said, voice a sleepy half-mumble. “We needed a few days away. To spend some time together.”

“Mmm, indeed we did,” Rowan agreed.

They were silent for a moment, Rowan still running his fingers through Elias’s hair. Elias’s arm moved, hand sliding from its spot hanging next to his waist until it was resting against his leg, halfway between Rowan’s thigh and his knee – right over the scar of the bite that had sealed his fate three decades earlier. His fingers brushed light patterns against his leg, tracing the lines of scar tissue beneath his jeans.

“You never told me how this happened,” Elias said, opening his eyes and looking up at Rowan.

“Don’t suppose I did, did I?” Rowan asked with a wry smile. “Shall I tell you now?”

Elias nodded, and Rowan settled back against the sleeping bag a bit more, making sure he was comfortable. “There was a platoon of us – fourteen boys from England, tramping through the German countryside. We didn’t know where they hell we were, just that there was a base we were supposed to get to. I was the one with the most experience. I was in charge of leading us. Well…somewhere in the Rhineland, we were attacked – pack of werewolves. We didn’t stand a fucking chance. We had guns, sure, but they were faster, and stronger…they ripped us apart.” He shook his head. “Out of fourteen men, only three survived: Me, Farrow, and Norwell. We decided we had to keep going, we had to get to the base and tell our superior officers about what had happened. I didn’t think they’d believe us – hell, I barely believed what had happened myself – but we had to tell them all the same.

Norwell didn’t make it to his first full moon. He got bloody chewed on – they treated him like a goddamned chew toy. Three bites. The wounds got infected before the whatever-the-hell-it-is, the venom or whatever, could turn him. You ever seen what blood poisoning looks like, Elias? It’s not pretty.” Rowan shook his head. “It was just me and Farrow. We were…we were so hopelessly fucking lost in the German countryside. We hit our first full moon before we ever found that Allied base. But…maybe it was for the best. Two newborn werewolves versus a handful of soldiers wouldn’t have ended well for anyone.

When I came back around the next morning, Farrow was sitting there, turning his pistol over and over in his hands, crying…he couldn’t live with it, couldn’t live with himself. I told him all we’d done was scratch up some trees and eat a few rabbits. But…he just looked at me with those impossibly sad eyes and asked me ‘what if it’s not rabbits next time?’.”

Silence fell between the two of them. Rowan swallowed hard against the memory of that cold German morning thirty years ago, at the resonating crack of a pistol discharging, the spray of blood against the nearby trees. His dog tags felt impossibly heavy against his chest.

“And then what?” Elias asked quietly, though his tone said he already knew.

“Farrow put the pistol in his mouth, and before I could say anything…he pulled the trigger.” Rowan sighed. “And then there was one.”

“I’m so sorry, Rowan,” Elias murmured.

“It’s all in the past, love,” Rowan said with a sigh, still absently carding his fingers through the other man’s hair. “Not much I can do to change it now.”

He smoothed his hand down through Elias’s hair, onto his neck, slipping beneath the neck of his tee shirt to stroke a finger along the scar tissue at the hollow where his neck met his collarbone.

“You know, you never told me your story.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Elias said with a shrug. “I never saw my sire; they bit me and ran.”

“Yes, but…what happened to you in the three hundred years since then?” Rowan asked.

“I survived,” Elias said flatly.

Rowan looked down at him, frowning. He’d wondered, in the two years he’d known Elias, what had happened to him – because he was certain something had happened to him. Something had caused him to seek oblivion in drinking heavily every night, to turn to chain-smoking cheap cigarettes to ease his mind. On those nights where he didn’t drink, he’d thrash around in his sleep, caught in the throes of nightmares, until he woke up screaming and with tears in his eyes.

He wanted to help Elias so badly. If only Elias would let him help.

“What happened to you?” he asked gently, tucking two fingers under his lover’s chin and lifting it, to look into his eyes. “Please, Elias, I want to help you. But…but you have to talk to me. You have to tell me what started you on this downward spiral.”

Elias’s reaction was, to say the least, unexpected. He started to shake; Rowan’s eyes widened in alarm as he heard Elias’s heart start beating faster.

“Elias?”

He shook his head. Worried, Rowan tried to hold him closer, to apologize for having gotten him so worked up. Elias shied away, still trembling and shaking his head.

“No…no, Rowan, please…I…I can’t…”

Rowan swallowed hard. Some part of him was frustrated and upset – he’d just laid bare his soul, relived the worst month of his life, and trusted Elias enough to do so. Was it so much to ask that Elias do the same and trust him?

But this wasn’t just Elias’s usual stubborn, taciturn nature on the subject. This was bordering on full-blown panic attack – he’d only seen Elias come this close to a panic attack once before. Guilt squirmed in Rowan’s gut at the idea that he’d pushed Elias enough to get that reaction. He reached out, taking Elias’s face in his hands.

“Hey. Hey. Come back. You’re okay.” He gently kissed Elias’s forehead. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”

Elias closed his eyes when Rowan pressed a kiss to his forehead, and nodded in response to his question. Rowan had expected them to go back to their original position, but Elias laid down where he was, six inches away, rolling onto his back and cradling his head with his hands. Rowan laid back down with a sigh; clearly, everything was not quite as forgiven as he had hoped.

“The stars are really nice out here,” he said after a minute. “Never would get a view like this in London. Too many clouds and too many bloody street lamps.”

Silence. Rowan sighed, closing his eyes and listening to the waves breaking against the cliffs instead.

“London looked like this, once.”

Rowan opened his eyes, glancing over to Elias. He was still lying on his back, staring up at the sky with quiet awe. He rolled over onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow and watching Elias.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Back when I was younger – well, relatively speaking – the night sky of London looked like this. None of those fancy electric street lights or anything. Just stars.”

Rowan smiled, rolling onto his back and closing his eyes. “Bet it was more beautiful than this, eh?”

His question got no response. After a long moment of silence, he opened his eyes, turning his head . Elias had turned over onto his side, and was looking at Rowan with a soft smile on his face.

“No. This is better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a question about Rowan and Elias or the Lunar Contagions? [](http://celticwildechild.tumblr.com/ask>Drop%20me%20a%20line!</a>)


	5. Pittsburgh - January 2016, 2:04 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan finally finds Elias, but it's not a happy reunion.

Rowan shivered, stuffing his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket. He still wasn’t sure if he was going to hug Elias when he found him, or punch him in the face for making him wander around in the cold this late at night.

He had originally planned to make a circuit around the city, hoping he would spot Elias staggering down the street. However, as they had passed Highland Park, something had made Rowan stop and think. A park. One of Elias’s cool-down techniques, as prescribed by his therapist, was to go for a walk. It was one of his go-to strategies…and there was a park. It may have seemed like a long shot, but maybe, just maybe, Elias was there.

He’d gotten the cabbie to stop, begging him not to take off, and had headed into the park. There were a few lamps along the path, but, for the most part, the park was dark. Silent.

The path deposited him in front of a large fountain of white marble. As it was the middle of winter, the fountainheads had been shut off, and the water still in the pond below was frozen over. Rowan stopped, hands still stuffed in his pockets, and sighed. At this rate, finding Elias seemed impossible.

A noise from nearby startled him out of his reverie. He would have brushed it off, thinking it was just the traffic on the nearby roads, or some stray animal – but no, that sound was definitely human, a human moan. Brow furrowed, Rowan squinted at the pond, realizing that the sound came from close by. At first, he saw nothing…but then, he spotted a broken patch of ice, through which an upper body protruded, clutching at the rim of the fountain, soaked, shivering, and moaning softly.

Rowan felt like someone had opened his mouth and forcibly poured cement down his esophagus, right into his stomach. He hurried to the other end of the fountain, heart clenching as whoever was in the pond slipped below the water line. He had a horrible, nasty suspicion as to who was in the fountain.

He reached the broken patch of ice and, after stripping off his jacket, plunged both arms into the water, ignoring the cold, like thousands of tiny needles stabbing into the exposed flesh of his arms. His fingers scrambled over cloth and what felt like hair before finally grabbing onto the upper arms of the poor bastard who had fallen in and giving a firm yank, bringing them back above the surface.

“Jesus!”

Rowan had seen Elias in some of his worst moments. But his heart had never clenched so hard, his stomach had never dropped as quickly as it did at that moment.

Elias was drunk, that much was obvious. But that wasn’t what scared Rowan the most. What scared him most was the way Elias’s head lolled, water streaming form his mouth and nose as he coughed weakly in an attempt to clear his lungs; it was the pale color of his skin and the blue tint to his lips and fingers; it was the jerky stiffness of his limbs as Rowan yanked him from the fountain, and the intense shivers that wracked his body as he slumped against Rowan.  He gripped the drenched drummer tightly, trying to keep him upright. Elias’s clothes were soaked through, his hair plastered to his face and neck. Rowan gave him a shake, trying to get him to open his eyes, to show Rowan he was still conscious…something…

“Elias?” He smacked his cheek – not hard enough to sting, but enough to hopefully rouse Elias. “Elias!”

He groaned, opening his eyes, which were dazed and unfocused. One shaking hand went to the buttons on his shirt, fumbling with them as though he were trying to take off his shirt. Rowan smacked his hands away.

“What are you doing?” He shook his head. “Never mind. Elias, it’s me, it’s Rowan…can you hear me?”

A groan was his only response. With a growl from deep in his throat, Rowan dragged the soaked, shivering, confused drummer back towards the front of the park, hoping to God the cab was still there.

Fortunately, the cab was and, silently thanking God for still somehow watching over his miserable self, Rowan flung the door open and shoved Elias into the backseat, before climbing in himself.

“William Penn Place,” he barked to the startled cabbie. “Hotel! Fast!”

The cabbie nodded, pulling back out into traffic. Rowan pulled Elias against him, ignoring the cold water rapidly soaking his shirt. He smacked Elias’s cheek again, trying to bring him back to consciousness.

“Don’t you do this to me,” he warned. “Don’t you fucking do this to me…”

His phone rang in his pocket. He yanked it out, swiping across the screen to answer the call, eyes never leaving Elias. “What?”

“It’s me,” the caller said, making Rowan’s heart leap in hope.

“Alexsei! Thank fuck,” he said. “Alexsei, please tell me you’re in the city or getting close or _something_ …”

“I just got off the turnpike. I’m in the city,” Alexsei said. “Did you find him?”

“I did. He’s bad, Alexsei. It’s real bad. I…” Rowan blew out a frustrated, exasperated, scared shitless sigh. “Please. Meet us back at the hotel. It’s on William Penn Place, big brick hotel, can’t miss it.”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll be there. Do you need me to call anyone?”

“Can you please call Lukas or Jocey or someone? Tell them I’ve got Elias.”

“Yeah,” Alexsei said. “Yeah, I’ll call.”

“Good. Please hurry.”

“I will.”

The line went dead, and Rowan stuffed his phone back into his pocket, turning his attention back to Elias, who was slumped against him, shivering and still trying to unbutton his shirt with fingers that were stiff and pale blue. He coughed again, bringing up a vile mouthful of what looked like pond water and vomit. Rowan held him tighter, thumping him on the back and trying to ignore the dirty look the cabbie shot him.

“Come on, you bastard, stay with me…stay with me…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have questions about Rowan, Elias, or the Lunar Contagions? [Drop me a line!](http://celticwildechild.tumblr.com/ask)


	6. Devon - December 1984

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth hurts - for both Rowan and Elias.

Rowan smelled the smoke as soon as he walked through the door.

After nearly a decade of living in London and desperate for a change, Rowan and Elias had moved south, to Devon, two years earlier, getting a rather pretty flat in the older part of the city, a flat far bigger than Elias’s tiny, one-bedroom deal they’d shared in London. And as soon as they had set down the last moving box, Rowan had made a decree: No smoking in the flat. Elias, who easily smoked a pack a day and despised having to go out in the cold or the rain for a smoke, had protested. Loudly. And often. But in the end, he’d resigned his chain-smoking to the tiny balcony – not that it made a difference, though, because somehow, the smell always found a way to permeate the place, leaving its acrid odor behind. It wasn’t quite as bad as it was in London, which smelled like a smoky old pub most days, but the smell still lingered.

That was part of the reason he’d been so happy when, six months ago and after much wheedling from him on the matter, Elias had given up smoking. He’d joked about how they’d save a fortune on candles and shit to try to cover the smell of smoke, but that wasn’t the main reason he was so happy. He’d been so happy because, in the twelve years he and Elias had been together, he’d discovered that the smoking and the drinking were crutches for Elias, things to keep whatever things were in his past at bay. Him giving up one of those crutches was a huge step. He’d hoped to get him to stop drinking quite so often, but…one vice at a time.

But now, their flat had that faint odor of fresh cigarette smoke again. Rowan sighed, a hard, heavy lump forming in the pit of his stomach as he carried the groceries into the kitchen.

“Babe?” he called, trying to sound as casual as possible. “Where are you?”

“Here, sorry, sorry.” Elias strolled up to the door of the kitchen, leaning against the frame with his hands stuffed into his pockets. “I was looking for something in our room. Didn’t hear you come in.”

And Rowan might have believed that. Would have believed it. But Elias’s hair was rumpled as though he’d just pulled a shirt over his head. And while Rowan might have been half-asleep when Elias left that morning for his shift at the bookshop he worked at, he distinctly remembered Elias’s jumper being navy-blue, not dark green. He nodded in response to Elias’s statement, mechanically moving to start putting groceries away, trying to figure out how he was going to broach the subject with Elias.

“How was your day?” Rowan asked.

“Alright,” Elias said with a shrug, coming in to help unpack groceries. “Was surprised when I got to leave work early – I thought we’d be packed, what with Christmas being so close, but I suppose it’s so bloody cold out that no one wants to go out.”

“Might be,” Rowan said, watching as Elias opened the freezer to put away a package of meat. The issue was hanging in the air between them, unaddressed, but God, Rowan could tell just from looking at Elias’s face that they needed to talk about it. Despite the calm and steady tone, he looked pale, shaken – exhausted, too, if the bags under his eyes were any indicator, which they were, to him. He turned to face Elias, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey…you know you can talk to me about anything, right? Anything that’s bothering you, you can tell me about it, and I’ll help you.”

“I know,” Elias said, smiling slightly. “I’ve known that for twelve years now.” He held up a half-frozen package of meat. “Chicken alright for dinner?”

“Yeah…” Rowan nodded vaguely, watching as Elias set the package in the sink to thaw, before opening a cabinet to put away some canned goods. “Elias…what’s going on?”

“Hmm? Nothing’s going on.”

“Are you sure?”

“Course I’m sure. Everything’s fine.”

“Then why do you smell like cigarette smoke?”

There was a clatter as Elias dropped a can, missing his bare feet by mere centimeters. Eyes wide in what looked like panic, he bent down to pick the can up; by the time he stood back up, he had managed to school a neutral expression onto his face.

“Why would I smell like that? I don’t smoke anymore,” he said, stretching up to put the can away. “Maybe it’s from someone else in the building…”

“Love, don’t bullshit a bullshitter,” Rowan cut in, firm but gentle. “It’s not from someone else in the building. I can smell it. It’s definitely from you.”

He expected more denial, but Elias’s head dropped instead, leaving him staring down at the counter, looking guilty. “Okay. Fine. It was me. I fucked up and gave into temptation.”

“Why, love?” Rowan closed the distance between them, putting a hand on Elias’s shoulder. “You were doing so well.”

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “I had a nightmare last night and…I just, I needed something to calm me down.”

Rowan frowned. “A nightmare? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not a big deal.” Elias pulled away, grabbing the carton of milk and moving to put it into the fridge. “I’m over it.”

“Clearly, you’re not, if you’ve gone back to smoking. Why can’t you just talk to me about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Elias pulled the fridge door open with what was perhaps a little more force than necessary. “I’ve got it under control.”

“By drinking and smoking yourself to oblivion?” Rowan’s bark of laughter was a harsh sound in his own ears. “Love, if you think that’s getting whatever problem you’re having ‘under control,’ you’re mental.”

Elias slammed the fridge door. “Maybe I just want some goddamn peace, okay? Maybe I don’t want to wake up screaming every night. Maybe I want a night without nightmares.”

“You don’t think I don’t get nightmares? You know how many nights I spent seeing my platoon get torn apart again? How many nights I’ve watched Farrow blow his brains out? You don’t see me drinking my problems away – I bloody talk to you about them!”

“You don’t understand, this isn’t something you can help me with! This isn’t something where you can just…just kiss my head and make it go away!”

“Then I won’t do that! I’ll do something else! Anything else! But if you think I’m going to sit here and watch you dope yourself into an early grave without raising a hand to stop you, you’re dead fucking wrong!”

“Well, what do you want me to do, Rowan?!”

“ _I want you to trust me!_ ”

A tense silence fell over the two of them. Rowan felt like an unbandaged wound, raw and festering. He needed to get out of the apartment for a while. Blow off some steam. He grabbed his keys from the counter, pushing past Elias, who looked just as angry and hurt as he felt.

“I’m going for a walk.”

He was halfway to the door when Elias spoke, almost too quietly for him to hear – but his words were enough to stop Rowan in his tracks.

“You want me to trust you?”

Rowan turned around. Elias stood at the counter, staring down at his hands. Rowan felt unbearably weary, feeling every day of the sixty-three years he was. He had fought with Elias before – no couple was without their arguments, after all – but not to this degree. He sighed.

“I just want to help you.”

“I don’t know if you can,” Elias said with a shaky past. “You know how I never told you about my past?”

“Yeah?”

“You want the truth?”

“Of course I do.”

“The truth is…God, the truth is I’m a fucking psychopath, there you have it.”

Rowan shook his head with a sigh. “Come off it, I highly doubt that – ”

Elias rounded on him, face a terrifying mix of anger, horror, and self-disgust, eyes flashing yellow. Rowan jumped back, startled.

“ _I killed my pack, Rowan!_ ”

Silence. The words took a minute to register in Rowan’s brain, but finally, they did, snatching the breath from his chest, only getting one small word out:

“W-What?”

“You want to know what my problem is?! I killed my pack, Rowan, I went crazy one night and I killed them…my friends…my mates…my children, Rowan, I killed my own _children_ , Rowan…”

He had been screaming, but his voice gave as he continued, turning choked and wobbly. He gripped the counter, trying to hold himself up, but as Rowan watched, his knees gave way. He sank to the kitchen floor, face crumpling. In his chest, Rowan’s heart crumbled. How long had Elias been carrying that burden of guilt? He hurried forward, kneeling next to Elias, whose arms were wrapped around himself as though he were trying to keep himself from falling apart. Tears streamed down his face, wiped of all anger, but with the horror and self-disgust remaining. Rowan ran his hands through Elias’s hair, trying to soothe him – and trying not to cry himself.

“Elias…”

“I d-didn’t mean to do it…” he sobbed, shaking his head – though to what, Rowan wasn’t sure. “There was…t-there was something w-wrong with me…I couldn’t…control m-myself…”

“Shhh.” Rowan pressed his lips to Elias’s hair, trying to soothe him.

“A-Annamarie…I killed her first, she was…she was sleeping with our children.” He took a shuddering breath. “Benjamin, he…h-he was my other m-mate, he found me…I w-was t-t-tearing my two youngest c-children apart…he tried to stop me, but…I killed him…they t-tried to stop me, all of t-them…I killed them. _I k-killed them_. I’ve s-spent two hundred y-years trying to m-make it stop hurting, but… _it n-never stops_ …”

Rowan closed his eyes, chest aching as though he’d been punched. Elias had been carrying around that kind of agony, that immense guilt, for two centuries. It all made so much more sense to him now – and his heart broke for it.

Elias was sobbing outright now, hard enough that he was shaking. Rowan pulled his boyfriend against him, smoothing his hands through his hair, letting Elias bury his face in his shoulder, safe to shake apart in Rowan’s arms. He pressed his lips to Elias’s hair, his own cheeks wet with tears.

“I’m sorry, love…I’m so, so sorry…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a question about Rowan, Elias, or the Lunar Contagions? [Drop me a line!](http://celticwildechild.tumblr.com/ask)


	7. Pittsburgh - January 2016, 2:25 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The situation goes from bad to worse, and Rowan steps in to help.

Rowan’s nerves were practically shattered by the time the cab pulled up in front of the hotel. He flung the door open, stuffing a wad of bills that he hadn’t bothered to count but knew was probably about twice his actual fare into the cabbie’s hands, then slinging Elias’s arm over his shoulder. The drummer was conscious – or, at least, Rowan was pretty sure he was conscious – but clearly insensate. Rowan had no idea if Elias even knew what was going on, or where he was. He dragged Elias out of the back seat of the cab, trying to get him to stand, at least, but all he did was sag against Rowan.

“You stupid, stupid fucking arse,” Rowan growled, dragging him towards the front door of the hotel, looking around for Alexsei, or Lukas…someone to help him get Elias inside and taken care of.

Salvation came in the form of a tall, lanky, dark-haired man sprinting up the sidewalk to Rowan. Clearly, Alexsei had just come from some semi-formal event; he wore a suit coat and dress pants, and under the coat, his shirt was crisp and clean. He was even wearing a tie. Rowan almost felt sorry for having dragged him away.

“Alexsei!” he cried out, voice cracking in his relief.

Alexsei skidded to a halt in front of Rowan, eyes going wide at the sight of Elias. He swore, stripping off his coat and bundling it around Elias as best as he could; Elias numbly shrugged the jacket off, which only made Alexsei swear again as he grabbed it from the ground. He looked to Rowan, hazel eyes serious.

“We need to get him inside. Now.”

Together, they managed to drag Elias inside, each of them with one of his arms slung over their shoulders. They took the elevator to the fourth floor, all the while with Alexsei casting glances at Elias and muttering in Russian. The elevator doors opened, and Alexsei and Rowan dragged him down the hall towards the room Rowan was sharing with Colin, stopping so Elias could bring up another mouthful of pond water and vomit. Rowan shot Alexsei a concerned look over Elias’s lolling head.

“What do we do?” he asked.

“We need to get his wet clothes off,” Alexsei said, giving Elias a firm thump on the back to make sure his lungs and throat were clear. “And try to bring his core temperature back up. He’s got hypothermia, but…”

“But what?!”

“I haven’t seen a case this bad in…God, years. I’m amazed he’s even still upright. Or conscious at all. What happened to him?”

“I found him in the pond in Highland Park,” Rowan said, guiding Elias down the hall, digging in his pocket for his key card. “He fell in.”

“Fell in?” Alexsei’s brow furrowed. “How deep is that pond?”

“I dunno, two, maybe three feet? Why?”

“Shit,” Alexsei hissed. “He might have a concussion, if he fell in…could have hit his head on the bottom.”

Rowan groaned – that was the last thing he wanted or needed to hear. “You’re not helping, Alexsei…”

“I’ll see if I can get him aware enough to run a concussion test on him.” Alexsei cast a sidelong glance at Elias, sniffing. “Has he been drinking?”

“Of course he bloody has!”

Alexsei’s eyes went wide. “Oh God…”

“What?!”

“That’s only going to make things worse. Alcohol is a vasodilator…”

“English, Alexsei, goddamn it!”

“Dilates the blood vessels,” Alexsei explained. “That accelerates hypothermia. That’s why he’s in such bad shape.”

“Fuck! Shit shit shit.” Rowan jammed his key card into the reader on the door, cursing it silently as it took what felt like ten years to read his card and unlock the door. “Elias Kersley, you stupid fucking bastard, if you make it through this, I’m going to fucking kill you…”

The light on the door’s card reader went green, and Rowan threw the door open; together, he and Alexsei dragged Elias over the threshold. Jocelyn hurried over, her face pale and tear-stained, but stopped short at the sight of Elias, shaking, fingers and lips blue, supported between Alexsei and Rowan, barely able to stay upright. Horror spread over her face, and fresh tears filled her eyes. Lukas hurried up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders to soothe her, eyes wide and filled with fear despite the stoic look he’d schooled onto his face.

“Oh my God…” he murmured.

“Get out of my way,” Rowan growled, half-dragging Elias out of Alexsei’s grasp, steering him over to the lonely double bed on his side of the room. He knew Lukas would take him to task later – while they’d never formally established a pack hierarchy, Lukas was, unquestionably, the band’s alpha, and right now, Rowan was challenging his authority. But authority be damned. Lukas didn’t have the past with Elias that Rowan had. Lukas didn’t know, couldn’t know, couldn’t possibly fathom how Rowan felt. How close he felt to losing the person he cared about most in the world.

As soon as Elias was seated on the bed, Rowan attacked the buttons on his shirt, all but tearing it open in his desperation to get the cold, wet clothing off of him. Colin stepped forward, presumably to try to hold Elias’s sagging form upright, but backed off when Rowan growled – actually growled, a primal noise that started in his chest and rumbled its way up his throat. The perceived threat gone, Rowan went back to stripping Elias, taking off his shoes, socks, pants, and even his boxers, tossing the wet clothing in a pile and leaving Elias naked and shivering on the bed.

“Should we…should we start a hot bath?” Jocelyn asked in a tremulous voice.

“No,” Alexsei said. “His system’s on the verge of massive shock, and the sudden temperature change will only put him into shock. He needs external rewarming.”

“Body heat,” Rowan said, yanking his shirt over his head. “Skin contact.”

He stripped off his boots and jeans, gently pushing Elias down into the bed and crawling in after him, yanking the thin hotel bedspread up over the two of them. He couldn’t help but wince as his skin touched Elias’s – he was painfully cold, especially for a werewolf. That only made Rowan wrap his arms around Elias even tighter, tucking his head under his chin.

“Clear them out,” he growled to Alexsei.

“I’m sorry?” Alexsei replied, looking confused.

Rowan jerked his chin at Lukas, Jocelyn, and Colin, all of whom hovered behind Alexsei, uncertain about how to proceed. “Clear them out.”

“Rowan, they’re his friends too…”

“I have to take care of him.”

“He’s Lukas and Jocelyn’s mate, they really should – ”

“ _I have to take care of him_.”

 “It’s o-okay,” Jocelyn said. “We’ll go.”

Lukas opened his mouth, as if to protest, but Jocelyn cut him a look and he closed it. Alexsei sighed.

“Alright. Why don’t you see if you can find me some warm, dry clothes for him?”

“The blanket,” Rowan said. “It’s on the bus – on Elias’s bunk. Bring the blanket.”

“I’ll get it,” Colin offered, bounding out the door. Lukas and Jocelyn disappeared as well, presumably to the room they were sharing with Elias to find him some dry clothes. Rowan bundled the two of them tighter into the bedding, pressing his lips to Elias’s wet hair. His eyes were closed, but he was still breathing, still shivering…still alive. Quietly, Rowan started to hum – old songs, the song that’d been playing in the bar the night they’d met, the songs they’d scream-sing in a terrible duet as they staggered home drunk at three A.M. Anything to try to keep Elias minimally tethered to consciousness.

“Rowan,” Alexsei said after a few minutes,” Colin brought the blanket.”

“Thank God.” Rowan detached himself from Elias, grabbing the blanket and, setting it next to him, hauling him upright to wrap the blanket around his shoulders. Elias clutched the blanket tighter against him, eyes flickering open. He groaned, and Rowan reached out, tucking the blanket around him tighter. “Hey…easy, easy. It’s alright. I’m here.”

“R-Rowan…” Elias forced out.

“Yeah.” Gently, Rowan guided him back down, until they were laying down. “You’re gonna be okay.”

He pulled the bedcovers back up, holding Elias against his chest again, humming another song. After a moment, he heard a sound from Elias, half groan, but also half chuckle.

“F-Foreigner?”

Rowan couldn’t help but smile, feeling a bit relieved – if nothing else, Elias remembered their song. “Yeah. You remember?”

“Y-Yeah…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have questions about Rowan, Elias, and the Lunar Contagions? [Drop me a line!](http://celticwildechild.tumblr.com/ask)


	8. Devon - Christmas 1984

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Rowan, the best Christmas present is seeing Elias happy again.

Finally, it felt like Christmas in the flat.

The last week had been hard. That first night was the hardest, with the two of them sitting on the kitchen floor until late into the evening, Elias sobbing hard enough that Rowan thought he would make himself sick. At long last, Elias had cried himself to the point of exhaustion, passing out with his head on Rowan’s chest. Rowan, however, had sat there still, one hand carding gently through Elias’s hair, the other idly turning over the dog tags that hung around his neck. He always felt like the dog tags carried the weight of his own past – of his platoon, of watching Norwell succumb to blood poisoning and Farrow blow his brains out – and they had felt, most of the time, like a minimal burden to bear. But now, the weight of Elias’s past, of the hurt and shame and grief he bore, hung in the air, weighing them both down, with no physical token to contain the memories, as Rowan’s dog tags did. The weight of Elias’s sorrows was crushing him. It made him understand why he never spoke about it. Sure as hell made him understand why he sought comfort in whiskey and cigarettes.

Ever since that night, Elias had been withdrawn, moody, and laconic. He hadn’t been going to work – Rowan had called the bookshop and lied, claiming he had gotten a bad stomach bug to cover for him. Mostly, he wandered from room to room in the flat, acting like he was lost. He picked at the two or three books he had been reading. Stared blankly at the telly without really understanding what was on it. Most of the time, he was out on the balcony, which he normally only went out on if he was smoking. Rowan had taken the pack of smokes he’d found in Elias’s jacket, as well as the bottle of whiskey in the cabinet over the fridge and, to be safe, Elias’s ID, in the hopes of keeping him from falling back into bad habits. But, despite having no reason to be out on the balcony, that was where he tended to stay, staring out at the city around them.

It was when he was out on the balcony that Rowan worried the most, fearing he’d turn around and see Elias throwing himself over the railing. But he never did, only stood and stared – which was what he was doing now, standing and staring, leaning against the balcony railing. Rowan sighed, plugging in the miniscule Christmas tree and watching it fill the room with a soft yellow glow. It was Christmas Eve, and after the week of perpetual gloom that had been hanging over the two of them, he just wanted to make the place feel the tiniest bit festive. Sure, the three was tiny and the stockings were kind of shitty and Christmas dinner was likely going to consist of soggy Chinese takeaway and it would pale in comparison to the dinners his mum used to have on Christmas…but it was better than nothing.

“Elias, love, what are you doing?” he called gently as he tried to stop one of the stocking from falling off the wall he’d hung them on.

“Nothing.”

“Why don’t you come back in? It’s rather chilly outside.”

There was a sigh, and, a moment later, Elias stepped back inside, pulling the balcony door closed behind him. He shuffled over to the couch, taking a seat on it and giving Rowan a baleful sort of look.

“Now I’m doing nothing in here,” he said. Rowan tried to hold back a wince; he sounded _awful_ , flat and hollow – like someone had sucked out his insides and left an empty shell. However, Rowan grinned, striving to cover his fears with cheer.

“Well, I’ve got something for you to do!” He crossed the room, grabbing two presents from the small pile under the table the tree was perched on, depositing them in Elias’s lap. Elias stared down at the presents for a moment, before looking up at Rowan, baffled.

“I can’t open these,” he said. “S’not Christmas.”

“Yes, but I want you to open them today.”

“Well…alright…”

“Wait, before you do, I’ve got something else.” Rowan sprinted into the kitchen, opening the fridge. Two glasses of eggnog – with rum already mixed in and nutmeg sprinkled on top – sat waiting on the shelf. He took them both, bringing them out to the living room and pressing one into Elias’s hands with a smile. “Happy Christmas, Elias Kersley.”

“Happy Christmas to you, too.” Elias took a sip of eggnog – maybe it was a trick of Rowan’s eyes, but his mate looked genuinely touched by his gesture. “Go pick two presents, too. It’s only fair.”

“That’s not how that works!” Rowan crowed, shooting him a mock-scandalized look. “I can’t just pick two presents! I picked out which ones I wanted you to open, now you have to pick which ones you want me to open!”

“Alright, alright, you picky pain in the arse…” Elias set his eggnog aside, unfolding himself from the couch and, after a moment’s consideration, selecting two presents from the pile and bringing them to Rowan. He deposited them in his lap. “I’m sorry, they’re not really much, I know, but – ”

Rowan halted his protests with a kiss. “Hush, I’m sure they’re perfect. Now, go open one of your presents – the bigger one, open that one.”

“Alright.” Elias sat down, hauling it into his lap with a grimace. “Christ, did you get me a box of bricks?”

“Open it!”

Elias obediently picked at the overly-taped corners of Rowan’s present. Once he’d managed to get the corner up enough, he tore the paper apart, finally getting to the item under it. He tilted his head, examining it curiously.

“A radio? I thought we already had one of those…oh, no, it short-circuited, didn’t it? During that storm.”

“I’m so sick of not having any bloody music in the house. Time to change that.” Rowan smiled. “Go on, go plug it in.”

Elias nodded and slid onto the floor with the radio box, finding an outlet to plug it into and setting to work. Rowan sat back on the couch, sipping his eggnog and smiling – and staring at Elias’s ass as he worked.

“You’re staring, aren’t you?”

“Did you stuff two cantaloupe down the back of your trousers? Or is your ass really just that fantastic?” Rowan shook his head. “What’d I tell you about the dark wash jeans?”

“That they were a good idea. And you were right.” He finished plugging the radio in and turned it on, turning the dial to tune it. After a moment, a Christmas carol filled the room. Rowan sighed, tipping his head back and smiling, eyes closed, relishing the sound of the music.

“Ah, that’s wonderful. It’s been too long.”

“It really is nice.” Elias’s voice was soft. Rowan opened his eyes and found that, for the first time in a week, he was smiling. “Thank you, Rowan.”

“Anything to bring back that smile, gorgeous.” He drummed his fingers against one of his presents, a rectangular box. “Shall I open one?”

“Please.”

“It’s a shame I have to ruin the paper job, though.” Rowan made quick work of the paper, feeling a grin break over his face as he revealed the black box with the familiar white star on top. “Ohhh, you’re a bloody angel, you!”

“Your old pair was rather falling apart,” Elias said, as Rowan pulled the pristine new pair of Converse out of the box. “I figured it was time for a new pair.”

Elias stood, and, as Rowan watched, he crossed the room, kneeling down in front of him and taking one of the shoes.

“May I?”

“Well, isn’t that fancy?” Rowan asked with a grin. “Getting the bloody royal treatment here.”

“You deserve it,” Elias said simply, easing the shoe onto Rowan’s foot. “For everything you’ve done for me.”

“Done? I haven’t done anything special.”

“Most people wouldn’t have stuck around after finding out what I’ve done. Most people would have left.”

“Well, most people are bloody tossers, then,” Rowan said, shaking his head. “I love you. No matter what. And nothing’s going to change that, Elias.”

Elias – who had just finished tying Rowan’s shoes – stood up quickly. For a moment, Rowan was afraid that he’d somehow upset Elias, which he didn’t bloody want, it was Christmas Eve and he’d just gotten Elias to smile again, the last thing he needed was for him to shut down again. Those worries were eased, however, when Elias half-climbed, half threw himself into Rowan’s lap, knocking his other present aside and straddling Rowan’s waist. He pressed his lips to Rowan’s, sending a hot shiver through Rowan, right to his groin. When they finally broke apart after a blissfully long moment, Elias’s eyes were unusually bright.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you so, so much.”

“I meant every word.” Rowan smiled a little, sliding his hands into the back pockets of Elias’s jeans. “Is this my other Christmas present?”

“Not really, no,” he said, shaking his head. “Although if you slap a bow on my head, I think I make a rather fetching Christmas present.”

“Mmm, always.” He stretched up, kissing Elias. For several long moments, they remained like that, exchanging kisses that grew steadily more heated. Elias shrugged out of the cardigan he was wearing, spurred on by Rowan’s hands still in his back pockets, gently squeezing his ass. A new Foreigner song began to play on the radio. Finally, Rowan gently broke away, heart beating faster in his chest – with anticipation, with fear, with a swirl of emotions he really didn’t have a name for. He licked his lips.

“Elias?”

“Yeah?” he asked, breathless.

“I’ve been thinking about something…there’s something I wanted to ask you for a while now…I mean, we’ve been together for twelve years now. And I love you – God, I love you so much. And…”

“And?”

“And I wanted to ask you if you wanted to…mate? Like, formally?”

Elias sat up, staring down at Rowan with eyes wide with surprise. He shook his head slowly, brow furrowing with confusion. “Me?”

“No, the bloody Queen of England.” Rowan chuckled. “Yes, you!”

“You can’t be serious,” Elias said, still looking at him in disbelief. “After everything I’ve put you through?”

“Put me through?”

“All my bad habits, my problems…Christ, Rowan, all the times you’ve had to talk me down from the ledge and you want to mate with _me_?”

“Yes.” Rowan took Elias’s face in his hands. “Listen, Elias Kersley, I love you. I love you and nothing’s going to change that. No matter what’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours, whatever makes you think you’re problematic or not worthy of being loved, I don’t care. I want you. I choose you, Elias. The question is…do you choose me?”

Elias nodded, eyes bright again. “Y-Yes. I choose you.”

Beaming, Rowan kissed him again, devouring his lips, tugging at his shirt as he tried to pull it over his head. Elias’s response was to undo Rowan’s belt and pop the button to his jeans, shoving a hand down his trousers and making him moan.

“I’ve…never mated…before,” Rowan gasped between kisses. “Do we…need to be…need to be shagging to mate?”

“Not exactly, no,” Elias answered, shaking his head. “But it should be a moment…a moment where you and I have…have the strongest emotions towards each other…”

“Well then,” Rowan grinned. “That means shagging.”

He attacked Elias’s jeans, pulling them off, relishing the breathless sounds he made. He paused with his hands on the waist of Elias’s boxers, however, a thought coming to his hazy mind.

“Wait! Your other present!” he said. “You need to open it!”

“For fuck’s sake, Rowan!” Elias gasped. “I love you, but your timing is awful!”

“Just go do it!” Rowan insisted, despite his painful arousal.

“Alright, alright!” Elias scrambled off Rowan’s lap, grabbing the other present and tearing it open in something of a frenzy. After clearing the paper away, he took the present – a fleece blanket – in his hands, unfolding it, eyebrows raised.

“Bloody hell, this thing goes on forever,” he commented, looking from the blanket to Rowan, comprehension dawning in his eyes. “We’re christening it, aren’t we?”

“You bet your firm, sweet ass we are.”

And so they did, spreading the blanket on the living room floor – after Elias had rolled off the couch, busted his head on the coffee table, and given himself a concussion and a gash over his eye that needed thirteen stitches back in ’77, they’d taken to keeping the more vigorous living room sex sessions to the floor – and making a nest, quickly shedding clothing and falling into the pile of blankets, kissing and grabbing and biting.

They took their time with the actual act, however, nearly bringing each other to the brink multiple times, but holding off for the right moment. Finally, Elias, on his hands and knees under Rowan, reached up with a trembling hand, guiding Rowan’s head to the juncture where his neck and shoulder met, his own nose burrowing against Rowan’s right bicep.

“Bite,” he growled, pressing his open mouth to Rowan’s skin.

And so he did, sinking his teeth into Elias’s shoulder. A moment later, Elias sank his teeth into Rowan’s arm; the sensation was blinding, like staring into a solar eclipse. Rowan growled against his mate’s skin, relishing the moans that escaped him.

Finally, the both collapsed on top of the pile of blankets, sweating and spent. With a smile, bite still throbbing on his arm, Rowan took Elias’s face in his hands, kissing him.

“Happy Christmas, Elias Kersley.”

Elias’s smile, in that moment, was brighter than the Christmas tree lights. “Happy Christmas, Rowan Walsh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a question about Rowan, Elias, or any of the other members of the Lunar Contagions? [Drop me a line!](http://celticwildechild.tumblr.com/ask)


	9. Pittsburgh - January 2016, 3:14 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan's worst fears come to a head, and Elias fights for his life.

Despite warm, dry pajamas and two layers of blankets, Elias was still shivering.

Rowan frowned, sitting next to him, combing a hand through his cold, damp hair. He had redressed as well, after helping Alexsei dress Elias; the hotel room was chilly, maybe that was why Elias was still shivering. Or maybe it was the fact that he had been drinking – Alexsei had said that alcohol accelerated hypothermia, maybe it was worse than Rowan thought it was.

No. Rowan shook his head; he couldn’t think that. Elias was going to be fine. He was being looked after by the best doctor Rowan knew. He was going to be alright.

The door opened, and Alexsei stepped back in with a sigh. “They don’t have any blankets right now – apparently it’s laundry day or the like. The lady at the front desk said she’d try to get us one as soon as she can.”

“Bloody hell,” Rowan groaned. “I’m worried about him, Alexsei. He won’t stop shivering. I thought he’d at least have stopped shivering by now.”

“Let me see.” Alexsei drew Elias’s arm from the bundle of blankets, eliciting a groan. He pressed Elias’s pale, shaking hand between his, frowning. “His skin temperature is still low. Let me get a reading of his internal temperature.”

He fished around in the battered black bag he’d brought with him, drawing out a tympanic thermometer. The probe end went into Elias’s ear; while waiting for it to give him a reading, he turned to Rowan.

“What exactly happened?”

“I don’t know!” Rowan blurted out. “We were doing a meet-and-greet event and suddenly he books it out of the room. I thought he might have gotten overwhelmed and came back here, but…he wasn’t here. I try calling him, texting him, nothing. We had to go looking for him, we had to call the fucking police and tell them to keep an eye out for him because he’s a fucking danger to himself, and I look at every bar within three miles of the venue and he’s not at any of them and the minibar back at the hotel is completely empty and…” He threw his hands into the air, a gesture of hopelessness and resignation. “I dragged him out of the fountain in Highland Park, and he was like this.”

“Huh.” Alexsei frowned. “He…hasn’t shown any signs of backsliding previously, has he?”

“Backsliding? I…” Rowan trailed off, lost for words – because, truth to tell, he wasn’t sure if Elias was backsliding or if he’d noticed it or not. “I’m not sure. We’ve been really busy, we’ve done six shows in a row and I just…fuck, I wasn’t looking out for him…”

“He has a pill sorter with his medications, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“We should check for the past few days. See if he’s been taking his medication as he should be, maybe we can get to the bottom of this problem.” The thermometer beeped, and Alexsei removed it, frowning. “Core temperature is still really low, so…Elias?” A pause. “Elias?”

There was a note of worry in Alexsei’s voice, and it made Rowan’s heart skip a beat. He looked down, finding that Elias had stopped shaking.

But he had also stopped breathing.

“Elias!” Rowan grabbed him, roughly turning him over onto his back. His chest wasn’t rising and falling. Heart squeezing in his chest, he looked to Alexsei, vision blurring from tears. “Alexsei!”

Alexsei pressed his head to Elias’s chest, face grave. “His heartbeat’s off. It’s there, but…it’s slow, and skipping…”

“What? Why?!”

“Beginnings of organ failure, most likely.” Movements quick and precise, Alexsei knelt over Elias, hands on his chest, locking together and beginning to pump. “His core temperature wasn’t able to rise quickly enough, so most likely, his organs are starting to shut down.”

“No!” Rowan grabbed Elias’s face with both hands – he looked so peaceful, like he was sleeping, but his skin was pale, his lips blue. “No, don’t you do this to me, don’t you fucking do this to me!”

“Rowan.” Alexsei’s voice cut through the haze of grief and rage in Rowan’s mind. “I need you to keep it together. Call 911. We need to get him to the hospital.”

“They’re not going to get him there fast enough!”

“Go find me an AED. Should be one in the lobby, if there isn’t one closer than that. If I can shock his heart back to a regular rhythm, it’ll buy him some time.”

Nodding, Rowan pulled out his phone, dialing 911, explaining the situation half-hysterically to the operator on the other end of the line. After he’d half-shouted at her what was going on, she requested to speak to Alexsei. He wanted to scream and curse at her – Elias was dying, didn’t she understand that, it wasn’t time for the goddamned Spanish Inquisition – but he helped Alexsei wedge the phone between his ear and his shoulder. Alexsei nodded, mouthing ‘AED’ to Rowan, before turning his attention back to the operator’s questions. Rowan, meanwhile, took off out of the room to go find what the doctor had told him to find.

The elevator would be too slow, so Rowan tore down the stairs, taking them two at a time and hoping to God that he’d find an AED before he got to the lobby. His heart pounded in his chest, a painful, mocking reminder that, by the time he got back, Elias’s might not.

In a moment of sheer, blinding stupidity, instead of turning at the landing to continue down the stairs, he hurled himself over the bannister, down onto the next flight of stairs. Ordinarily, he would have stuck the landing just fine.

Today, not so much.

His ankle rolled as he landed, tipping him right over. He tumbled end over end down that flight of stairs, coming to a very hard and painful stop when his head slammed into a wall on the landing. For a moment, his vision swam and dimmed.

The memory of Elias lying on the bed, not breathing, spurred him back into action. With a groan, he forced himself up; his head was spinning and aching, his ankle throbbed, and he felt he might be sick. But there was no time to waste. He half-ran, half-hobbled down another flight of stairs, then, in a landing, he spotted it: A red box mounted on the wall, labeled ‘AED.’ Rowan grabbed it off the wall and hurried back up the stairs, scrambling at the handrails to keep himself upright.

Alexsei had gotten off the phone with 911 and was still doing CPR in a desperate attempt to get Elias breathing on his own again. Rowan stumbled in, presenting the box to Alexsei. It only weighed a few pounds, but the knowledge of what it could do – what was in the balance right now – made it feel like it weighed a hundred.

“Good.” Alexsei grabbed the AED and opened it. An automated voice inside spoke, giving instructions, but Alexsei ignored them, grabbing two pads from the lid of the kit, pressing one near Elias’s right shoulder, the other down towards the bottom of his ribcage on his left side. He plugged the pads into the machine, waiting while it analyzed Elias’s heart rhythm.

Rowan couldn’t stay and watch any longer. He staggered out into the hallway, mind racing faster than his heart, feeling dizzy, disoriented, and horribly, achingly terrified. As much as he wanted to trust Alexsei, to believe in his abilities as a doctor, the situation was too dire. Organ failure, Alexsei had said – Elias’s organs were shutting down because they couldn’t get him warm enough fast enough. He’d been in the pond too long.

Rowan had let him down.

It all hit him all at once, in the middle of the hallway in the hotel. He had been looking after Elias – he was who Elias trusted most, even above Lukas and Jocelyn. He should have gone after Elias when he ran. Should have made sure he was alright. But he didn’t. If he had, they’d all be enjoying some late-night post-concert grub and having a good laugh. Instead, Elias was at death’s door. And it all could have been avoided.

Rowan doubled over, stomach churning from a hideous combination of nausea and fear and guilt. A moment later, it all came to head as he threw up forcefully, sinking to his knees. The bite on his arm, twenty years old and faded into an oblong circle of scar tissue, was aching, throbbing along with his head and his ankle. He choked on a sob, vision blurring as tears streamed down his face.

Distantly, a door opened. Footsteps pounded in the hall. Someone was calling out to him, far away…

“Rowan! Oh God, Rowan!”

Jocelyn.

A pair of hands seized his face, lifting his head; it was then that he realized Jocelyn was right next to him, green eyes wide with horror.

“Rowan, sweetie…R-Rowan, please tell me what happened,” she begged.

All Rowan could do in answer was sob, reaching for Jocelyn with hands bent into claws. After a moment’s hard sobbing, the sick feeling overcame him again, and he vomited – mostly on the floor, though partially in his lap. Jocelyn’s eyes were huge, scared.

“Lukas! _Lukas_!”

A moment later, Lukas and Colin swam into view, both with worry in their expressions. Colin tried to soothe Rowan as Jocelyn had been doing; Lukas turned to his mate.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know! He won’t tell me…Lukas, Lukas please, I need you to check on Elias, I need you to make sure he’s…he’s not…”

_Dead. Make sure he’s not dead. But…_

Rowan howled, blinded by tears. While he wanted to hope for the best, he had seen how pale Elias was. How still his chest was. And he couldn’t help but think of the worst.

Lukas disappeared. Colin, did, too, for a moment, coming back with a wet washcloth, which he gave to Jocelyn. She dabbed at Rowan’s face with it, cleaning his tears and his sick, still trying to calm him down. All Rowan could do was cry, occasionally pausing to retch, the burning of the stomach acid in his throat making him want to cry even more.

It felt as though the world was moving around him, everything terrifyingly fast and blurry. Lukas came back, then disappeared again, Colin in tow. They came back, this time leading a team of paramedics and a stretcher. And then, all of a sudden, Alexsei was kneeling in front of Rowan, hands on his shoulders, their faces only an inch or so apart.

“Rowan? Rowan, I need you to stay with me,” he said. “Come on, Rowan, come on back.”

_Why? What does it matter?_ But Rowan couldn’t actually answer him, all he could do was hiccup and whimper. Colin knelt next to Alexsei.

“We couldn’t get anything out of him. He’s throwing up, he’s not talking, he won’t stop crying…nothing. I’m worried, Alexsei.”

“Come on, Rowan, Elias needs you to hold on for him. He’s going to be okay, but he needs you to hold on.”

The paramedics rushed past, three of them: One was leading the stretcher and barking instructions, another was steering from the back. Elias was strapped to the stretcher, wrapped in a silvery blanket, a mask strapped over his nose and mouth. The mask was attached to a large purple sphere, which was being worked by a third paramedic. Rowan realized, with stomach-churning horror, that that pump was what was keeping Elias alive.

He howled anew, lunging weakly towards the stretcher. Lukas and Jocelyn hurried behind it; Lukas looked down at the three of them, at Rowan, covered in his own vomit, sobbing and shaking, being half-held up by Colin and Alexsei. His eyes were full of pain, but his face was firm.

“Jocey and I will ride in the ambulance,” he told Alexsei. “Meet you there?”

Alexsei nodded. Rowan wanted to scream – Elias may have been Lukas and Jocelyn’s lover, the completion of their circle, but Elias was Rowan’s mate, the completion of his soul. It didn’t matter that they’d gone platonic ages ago. Elias was still a part of him.

The stretcher – along with the paramedics, Lukas, Jocelyn, and Elias, disappeared into the elevator. Rowan’s sobs redoubled; he reached towards the elevator with a shaking hand. Alexsei took him under his arms, hauling him to his feet.

“Come on, Rowan,” he said. “Come on, we’re going to go meet them at the hospital. We’re going.”

Rowan sagged against Alexsei, knees barely able to hold him up. The hospital. Elias could very well die en-route to the hospital, and he wouldn’t know. Wouldn’t be able to hold his hand, or kiss his forehead while his skin was still somewhat warm with life. His fingers curled into Alexsei’s shirt, and he made a horrible sort of noise, more animal than human.

“Alexsei, what do we do? He’s in really bad shape,” Colin said.

“I know. I know. Just…help me.” Alexsei knelt, half-pulling, half-dragging Rowan onto his back. Colin helped, adjusting him until he was riding piggyback-style on Alexsei’s back, then, he helped Alexsei to his feet. The world spun horribly, and for a moment, Rowan was certain he was going to be sick again. As it was, he started to dry-heave horribly.

“Rowan?”

Darkness washed over his vision. He closed his eyes, opened them, then closed them again.

“ _Rowan!_ ”

He kept his eyes closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a question about Rowan, Elias, or any of the other members of the Lunar Contagions? [Drop me a line!](http://celticwildechild.tumblr.com/ask)


	10. Devon - September 1989

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A clash of wills that changes Rowan and Elias's relationship forever.

Rowan awake to the sound of screaming.

He bolted upright, switching on the lamp that sat on the bedside table. The yellow light that lit the room revealed Elias, sitting upright in bed, awake but not awake, staring straight ahead with unseeing eyes, back pressed against the headboard. His nails, lengthened into sharp yellow claws, had dug into the headboard, leaving gouges in their wake. Rowan grabbed Elias’s shoulders, trying to bring him back to reality.

“Elias! _Elias!_ ”

He gave a deep shiver, then shook his head. Judging by the look on his face, the lucidity in his eyes, he was awake now, really awake. He glanced over at Rowan, eyes wet with tears and hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. It was a look that Rowan knew well, but it never failed to break his heart. He took Elias’s hands, kissing the right one first, then the left.

“Nightmare?”

He nodded, still shivering. Rowan squeezed his hands, lacing their fingers together. Elias glanced at their intertwined fingers, staring blankly for a moment before he finally seemed to focus on something about their hands. He frowned, then glanced to the headboard and groaned.

“I tore up the headboard again, didn’t I?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Rowan said, trying to sooth him. “You know I’ve torn up a few headboards in my time.”

He meant for his comment to make Elias laugh, or at least crack a smile – hell, he’d settle for Elias looking not quite so upset. Instead, his mate merely pulled away, turning and throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up, leaving their room without a word. Rowan sighed, getting up and following after him.

He found Elias out on the balcony, trying to light a cigarette with shaking fingers that fumbled on the lighter. That made Rowan purse his lips in disapproval – while he had begged and pleaded and nagged Elias to try to give up that disgusting habit for years, inevitably, bad dreams would drive him back to smoking, to make the shaking stop, to calm his nerves. The past five years had been, for Rowan, an exercise in futility in getting his mate to kick that habit.

Elias finally managed to get enough of a flame on his lighter to light the cigarette, bringing it to his lips. The tip glowed orange in the gloom as Elias took a drag.

“I thought you’d kicked that habit,” Rowan said, unable to keep that pointed tone out of his voice.

“I thought I had, too.” Elias took another drag. “Just like I thought I had back last November. And February of ’86. And December of ’84. But…nicotine cravings are a bitch.”

“Bullshit. This isn’t about nicotine cravings. This is about you needing a crutch.”

Elias went still. In the faint illumination thrown off by the lit end of his cigarette, Rowan could see that he looked hurt. It pained him to hurt his mate like that, especially when all he wanted to do was take Elias into his arms and hold him, kiss him until he stopped shaking. But he also knew Elias needed to hear that.

After a moment silence, he reached out, putting a hand on Elias’s shoulder. “Third one this week. I’m getting worried, babe.”

“This isn’t anything unusual,” Elias said quietly around the cigarette clamped between his lips.

“I’ve never seen them happen this much in such a short period of time.”

“They don’t, usually.” He sighed, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “I’ll be fine.”

Rowan had to bite his tongue at the words that flooded him, words he longed to speak. He knew Elias wasn’t going to be fine. He knew Elias would bottle the fear and hurt and disgust and self-loathing up, drowning it with alcohol and cigarettes. Letting it fester until it made him snap. A sick feeling pooled in Rowan’s gut. He’d seen Elias get to the point of snapping only twice in the eighteen years they’d been together, and both times had involved him having to forcefully commit Elias’s to psychiatric care, for a seventy-two hour lockdown after he’d chased him down staggering his way to the roof of the buildings they’d lived in – first, the six-floor building they’d lived in in London, then, the very ten-story building they lived in now. He didn’t want to relive those memories in a third night, a night where he would sit in the hospital’s hard plastic chairs and stare numbly at the bag of belongings they’d handed to him, listening to Elias howling as the nurses tried to subdue him. Or, worse – making it to the roof of the building and finding Elias already on the ledge. Running to pull him down, only to watch him fall to the streets below.

He couldn’t do that. Couldn’t bear the thought of that.

“I think you need help. Professional help.”

Elias froze, stumpy cigarette butt halfway to his lips. He turned his head to look at Rowan, confused, but the confusion in his face slowly giving over to anger.

“The _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?”

Rowan took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders and facing Elias, though he still leaning on the balcony railing, trying to keep his posture from being too threatening. “Exactly what you think it means. You’re not handling this problem in a healthy way. You’re covering it up and letting it build until it gets out of hand – out of your hands and mine.”

“And since when are you an expert in my mental health?”

“Since I’ve lived with you for seventeen fucking years!” Rowan drew himself to his full height, trying to swallow down the angry growl that climbed his throat. “Listen here, you wanker, I care about you! You’re my mate! And I’ve wanted to tell you this for years, but I’ve never been able to because you’re so goddamn stubborn, but now, I’m saying it: _You need help_.”

“I’ve got things under control,” Elias ground out, forcefully stubbing out his cigarette against the balcony railing.

“Is that what you call this? _This_ is keeping it under control?” Rowan gestured to the smoldering butt still clenched in Elias’s fingers. “Fuck you. This is covering it up.”

“And what you’re proposing is any better?” Elias snapped, finally drawing himself up to his own height, now only a few inches from Rowan’s face, eyes locked. Angry. “Send me to some head case who wants to do what? Pump me full of sedatives to make me feel better? Yeah, because that’s pleasant.”

“Better than you throwing yourself off the goddamn roof!” Rowan grabbed him by the shoulders. “Do you know how much those night hurt, Elias? Sitting there in the waiting room, holding your things and listening to you scream while they strapped you down. I stayed. I wanted to be in there with you…I wanted to tell you I was sorry for doing that to you, but I had to do it, because something had crawled in your head and died in there and told you that throwing yourself off the roof was the answer!”

“I haven’t been like that in years.” Elias jerked away. “I’ve been okay.”

Rowan snorted incredulously. “Yes, because destroying your liver and your lungs with all that smoking and drinking you do is okay. It’s like saying that having the snot beaten out of you is okay because at least you didn’t get hit by a bus…”

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.” Elias tried to shove his way past Rowan. Rowan, however, refused to be moved.

“Well, that’s just too fucking bad. We’re talking about it. This has gone on for too long.”

“Says who?”

“Me!” Rowan threw his arms in the air in frustration. “God damn it, are you really that fucking dense? I’ve stood by and let you keep up this self-destructive behavior because I didn’t want to start a fight – ”

“Well you’ve gone and cocked that up, haven’t you?”

“Because I fucking care about you, you twat! I’m your mate and I care about you and I want you to get better! This isn’t getting better, this is you destroying yourself even further, and I want you to go see someone and get some fucking professional help before you do something to put yourself in an early grave!”

“Well maybe I don’t want that! Did you ever think to ask me what I want, you prat?”

“Fine. You want me to ask, I’ll ask.” Anger and sarcasm dripped from Rowan’s words. “Since you seem to be such a goddamn master of what you want, then tell me, Elias.”

“You know what I want?”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly guess. A drink? Another smoke, perhaps, anything to sweep this under the rug along with all your other issues – ”

Elias, in a move of both surprising speed and strength, grabbed Rowan by his shirt, slamming him against the wall near the door to their balcony, hard enough to rattle him. Elias’s normally gray-blue eyes loomed golden and dangerous in the low light.

“I want you to leave me the fuck alone!”

All the breath left Rowan’s lungs, leaving him feeling like a deflated balloon. He knew Elias was angry – they both were – and that they both would say horribly unkind things to each other – they both had – but he hadn’t expected Elias’s words would hurt so much. A punch to the chest would have hurt less. He swallowed down the lump that had risen in his throat, trying to save face in front of Elias. To not let on that he was hurt. He jerked away, out of Elias’s grip, giving him a glare that could have frozen Hell.

“You want me to leave you alone?” he asked, voice low to try to keep it from wobbling. “Fine. I’ll fucking leave you alone.”

He stormed back into the apartment, taking approximately five minutes to stuff some clothes into his duffle and yank the zip shut. Elias was still out on the balcony as he passed through, angry, but also looking stunned. Rowan stopped, staring at him. Five words bubbled up his throat, spilling out of him before he could stop them, fueled by his anger and his hurt.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

And he walked out the door.

The next four days were the hardest of Rowan’s life. He’d made a desperate call to a friend from a phone box, begging to stay on his couch for a few nights so he could get his head on straight. His friend had been kind enough to let him stay on the couch – and to let him be for the first night, to let him sob his feelings out into a throw pillow. The next day wasn’t any easier, but…he made do. He made do until the fourth day, when he realized he really needed to go talk to Elias. Or, at least, make sure he was alive. If nothing else.

The trek up the building’s stairs to their flat had been brutal; his heart had been in his throat the entire time, mind rushing with uncertainty. _What now? What happens now?_

He almost turned around and went back downstairs twice. And at the door to their flat, he thought he was going to be sick. But, with jaw clamped firmly shut, he raised a hand and knocked on it.

And, after a minute, it opened.

Rowan took a small bit of savage delight in the fact that Elias looked like he had been just as miserable as him. He was, at least, wearing a different set of clothing than he had been four days ago, though his clothes were rumpled like they’d been slept in, and stank of an entire carton of Elias’s favorite brand of smokes. His hair was greasy, and his beard was starting to look neglected and overgrown; his eyes, puffy and red-rimmed, widened at the sight of his mate on the doorstep.

“Rowan?”

“Yeah.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I, um…”

“Are you..?” There was a sort of fear in Elias’s eyes as he trailed off, and Rowan knew exactly what he was going to ask.

_Are you moving out? Are you leaving me?_

If it had been three days ago, when Rowan was still raw from their fight, the answer would have been yes. But now, four days out, weary, resigned, and a little upset about some of the things he’d said, he wasn’t entirely sure. He knew he still loved Elias. Loved him more than anything. But…there was agony in living with him the longer he continued to bottle up his problems and let things fester in his head. There was agony in the way his stomach always sank when Elias came to bed stinking of scotch whiskey and cigarettes, giving Rowan sloppy kisses that lacked finesse. There were the nights, the really bad nights, where he stayed awake in that agony, afraid that if he went to sleep, he’d wake up to find that Elias had disappeared because something had gone off in his head.

“I…” He sighed. “I dunno.”

Elias stepped back, opening the door wider. “Come in. Please.”

The front room was something of a mess. As Rowan came in, Elias hurriedly started tidying, murmuring something about not having expected guests. He scooped up half-empty cartons of takeaway to toss them out, then tried and failed to hide at least a dozen empty beer bottles from Rowan’s view. The fleece blanket from the Christmas they’d mated was on the sofa, part of a nest of blankets that indicated that Elias had been sleeping there for the past few days.

“Sorry, sorry.” Elias grabbed the blanket, folding it. Rowan glanced idly at the coffee table, frowning at the sight of an already-open bottle of beer there. Next to it, however, was the phone book, laying open; peering closer at the pages, he found that the book was open to a list of counselors.

That made him smile for the first time since they had fought.

It took Elias almost a month, but he finally settled on a doctor. Rowan stayed, though he had taken to sleeping in the spare room. He couldn’t say what it was, but something had shifted in his and Elias’s relationship. Something was different following that night, that awful row. Sure, they still sat on the couch and cuddled together, still held hands and gave each other reassuring little squeezes, but there had been a distinct lack of romance in them. Rowan didn’t ask Elias about it, but he suspected Elias was abstaining from them for the same reason he was – because, despite reassuring each other that they were okay following their fight, there was still something there that said they weren’t, that things had changed.

But the change that had happened wasn’t clear to Rowan. At least, not until the day Elias came home from what he had claimed was a standard appointment with a piece of paper in his hands and his eyes fixed on the ground. He handed the paper to Rowan without a word; it wasn’t from Elias’s usual counselor, but instead from a psychiatrist. A clinical evaluation.

Rowan read it, even though he already knew what it would say. Elias said nothing, but the droop in his shoulders and the hurt in his downcast eyes said everything. When he finished reading the evaluation, he set it aside, pulling Elias into a hug and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Part of why he stayed was because he wanted to keep Elias in his life, to brighten his days with his snarky comments and those little grins that were like summer thunderstorms, quick and fleeting and electric.

But most of the reason he stayed was because he realized, on that day, standing there in the living room with his forehead against Elias’s, whispering reassurances while Elias quietly cried, that Elias needed him to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a question about Rowan, Elias, or the Lunar Contagions? [Drop me a line!](http://celticwildechild.tumblr.com/ask)


	11. Pittsburgh - January 2016, 9:46 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a harrowing night, Rowan gets a bit of relief.

Rowan opened his eyes, squinting at the bright white light that was flooding down on him. It was making pain radiate through his skull; he moaned, raising his hand to cover his eyes – or, at least, shield them a bit. A tugging at the back of his hand stopped him, however. He tried again, pulling a little harder, then wincing as a spike of pain shot through the back of his hand.

“Hey! Easy, easy…”

Colin’s face loomed into view, looking relieved. He was still in the clothes he’d worn at the concert, and, judging by the bags under his eyes, he probably hadn’t slept all night.

“Easy,” Colin repeated, gently pressing Rowan’s hand back onto the bed. There was a tube going into the back of it – an IV. “The doctor’s said you have a concussion.”

“A concuh-?” Bits and pieces started coming back to him. Being shaken awake by frantic hands, his eyes pried open to have a light shone into his eyes. Endless questions when all he wanted to do was sleep, questions that his dulled brain struggled to find the answers to. Throwing up in his own lap at least twice. He groaned.

“Yeah. We knew something was up when you passed out while Alexsei was hauling you onto his back. I don’t know what he said after you did that, ‘cause he said it in Russian, but…pretty sure it would have made a sailor blush.” Colin shrugged. “Alee tried to call you earlier. I told her what happened. She wanted to come down here right away, but I assured her you were in good hands, cause I know you said she had that show coming up…”

Colin continued on. Rowan, now adjusted to the light enough that he could actually see the room and didn’t feel like his head was going to explode, examined his surroundings. He was in a hospital room, dressed in one of their standard gowns and with his clothes from the night before nowhere in sight…

The hospital.

Elias.

He gasped, jerking himself upright, even though it made the room spin. “Did he make it? Is he okay?”

Mercifully, Colin nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, he made it. He’s still down in intensive care, but they got him stabilized.”

“I want to see him. Need to see him.” He threw his legs over the side of the bed. A white-hot bolt of pain shot up his leg, making him cry out. Colin placed his hands on Rowan’s shoulders.

“Whoa, whoa. Slow your roll. You busted your ankle, too, you know that, right?”

He looked down. Sure enough, his right leg was in plaster up to his knee. He fisted his hands into his hair, a growl escaping him – a deep one that started in his chest.

“I need to see him!”

“I’m working on it!” Colin said, reaching over and pressing the nurse call button, still keeping Rowan from getting off the bed with one hand.

The next ten minutes were possibly the longest ten minutes of Rowan’s life. A nurse came in and he explained, in no uncertain terms, that he needed to see Elias as soon as humanly possible. Fortunately, the nurse was receptive to the idea – or maybe she was frightened of the manic glint in Rowan’s eyes – for she fetched a wheelchair and carefully transferred Rowan, his casted foot, and the IV still dripping into his hand into a wheelchair, hanging the bag from an IV hook mounted to the back. From there, she wheeled him down the hall towards intensive care, parking him outside of a room and saying something about visitor numbers in the ICU rooms and how they were breaking rules already, even if the one was a doctor. Rowan only caught about half of what she said as she disappeared into the room. He worried the tube for his IV in his fingers as he waited. After a minute, Lukas and Jocelyn emerged, being shepherded out by the nurse; both of them looked exhausted, still dressed from last night’s show – had it been only one night? Rowan felt like a lifetime had passed, an anxious, terrifying lifetime. He expected some sort of reproachful look or comment from Lukas – after all, he had challenged Lukas’s authority as pack leader last night, and while theirs was a very loose pack hierarchy, pack law was pack law. However, Lukas merely gave him an exhausted nod and shuffled down the hall with Jocelyn, mumbling something about coffee. The nurse, meanwhile, wheeled Rowan into the room.

Rowan had seen Elias vulnerable before, seen him strapped to a bed with soft restraints so he wouldn’t hurt himself. But somehow, this was worse. This made him feel worse. There was something to the tune of a dozen wires and leads connecting Elias to various machines placed around the head of the bed. He was pale under the fluorescent lights, but Rowan was relieved to see that his lips and the tips of his fingers were no longer blue, at least. A small, clear tube had been wrapped over his ears, the ends of it disappearing up his nose. It made his hair stick up on one side of his head, and Rowan just wanted to smooth it down.

He had pulled through. He was alive, he was breathing, his heart was beating.

“The doctors think they’ll be able to move him out of intensive care in a day or two.”

Rowan nearly jumped out of his wheelchair; he’d been so focused on Elias, he hadn’t even noticed Alexsei was in the room, too, huddled in the corner with what looked like a pilfered medical textbook. He looked up, offering Rowan a tired smile, raking his hair back from his face.

“You’re looking better than you were last night.” His smiled faded. “Don’t you scare me like that again, Rowan Walsh.”

In spite of himself and the situation, Rowan cracked a weak grin, nodding his head in Elias’s direction. “Shouldn’t you be telling him that?”

Alexsei gave a small chuckle. “I figured I’d save the lecture for when he had less tubes and wires stuck in him. I mean, advanced hypothermia and a concussion? He’s had a rough night.”

Rowan nodded, heart clenching tightly in his chest. Rough night, indeed. Hell, rough night was probably the understatement of the century.

There was a soft groan and, from the bed, the steady beeping of the heart monitor picked up speed a little. Looking up, Rowan saw Elias’s face scrunch; he groaned again, turning his head to one side.

“Elias?” Rowan reached out, trying to grab the wheels of his chair, but Alexsei beat him to it, jumping up from his chair and bringing Rowan up to the side of the bed. He took one of Elias’s hands, relieved that his fingers were now warm, at least. At the sound of his voice, Elias’s eyes opened slightly, making him smile. “Hey. There you are.”

Elias closed his eyes again, moaning. “L-Light…”

“Yeah, I know, right?” Rowan asked, giving Elias’s hand a squeeze. “Trying to make us go blind. Apparently, you hit your head pretty hard last night, so…you’re probably feeling that right now, eh?”

He nodded, though it wasn’t so much a nod as his head drooping slightly. Alexsei took a step back, heading towards the door, saying something about letting the doctors know Elias had woken up. Rowan gently squeezed his hand, feeling so overwhelmingly relieved that he felt he could cry.

“Don’t you scare me like that again, you prat,” he said, pressing a kiss to the back of Elias’s hand. “Don’t you do that to me.”

Elias’s only response was a sleepy, incoherent mumble. Rowan sighed. He wanted to talk to Elias, to ask him what had happened that made him snap like that. But now was not the time. Besides, if Alexsei had gone to talk to one of the doctors, then chances were that Elias was about to get pestered enough as it was without Rowan pressing the issue. And so, he contented himself to run a thumb over the back of Elias’s hand, watching as his head dropped onto his shoulder, listening as the beeping from the heart monitor slowed.

“Alright, get some sleep, you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a question about Rowan, Elias, or the Lunar Contagions? [Drop me a line!](http://celticwildechild.tumblr.com/ask)


	12. Devon - March 1991

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are changing, but one thing will always remain the same: Rowan and Elias are a package deal.

The front door closed, and from his spot on the couch, Rowan could see Elias pulling off his shoes, his hair and clothes soaked from the unexpected rainstorm. He grinned, lowering the volume on the telly.

“Hey, you. Get wet out there?”

“It only looks like I got thrown into one swimming pool on the way home.” He gave his head a decidedly dog-like shake, before disappearing back towards their shared bathroom, presumably for a towel. Rowan turned his attention back to the telly, watching it absently while scribbling thoughts and half-completed lines of poetry into his journal – which, despite having only gotten it at Christmas, was already halfway full.

It wasn’t until the program ended, half an hour later, that he realized Elias had never come back from the back of the apartment. Normally, he would join Rowan in the front room to watch some telly and bicker about what was for dinner on the days he worked later. The shower wasn’t running, so he wasn’t showering…the lack of noise made a bubble of discomfort form in Rowan’s stomach. Elias had been steadily attending therapy for a year now, but…the underlying worry never really went away. He set his notebook aside, turning to get up and go find Elias.

He jumped in surprise when he found Elias standing at the mouth of the hall, clutching a letter that looked as though it had been folded and unfolded many times. The look on his face was apprehensive, which made Rowan worry.

“Elias? What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It’s…it’s not that something’s wrong. I…” He began to fold the letter again, then unfolded it. Rowan could see why it was so badly creased. “I’ve been sitting on this for a while, and I wasn’t sure how to go about telling you this…”

“Well, out with it man, before you give me a bloody heart attack!”

“I got a job offer,” Elias said, “from a publishing company.”

The anxiety bubbling in Rowan’s gut melted away, and he beamed at Elias, hopping up off the couch and moving to embrace him. “That’s fantastic – !”

“It’s in Bristol.”

Ah. That was the hang-up, Rowan knew it immediately. It meant moving. Change. And while Elias liked Devon well enough, it had taken him nearly two years to agree to move there with Rowan. Granted, he knew now that there were other reasons behind Elias’s reluctance in that case – Devon was where Elias’s old pack had been based out of. Devon had bad memories attached to it. But now, there were good memories, too, Rowan knew. Elias would be reluctant to leave those good memories behind.

But he needed an opportunity like this.

“Well,” Rowan began gently, “do you want the job?”

Elias nodded. “I…I really do.”

“Then I think you should take it,” Rowan said with a smile.

“But…but my therapist is here…” Elias argued weakly, glancing up at Rowan, the look in his eyes half-hopeful, half-terrified. Rowan put a hand on his shoulder, giving him a little grin.

“Well, far as I know, Bristol isn’t experiencing some drought of therapists right now, so you’re in luck!”

Elias shuffled his feet, still looking a little unsure. Rowan shook his head, giving Elias’s arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Look, Elias, you want this job, I know you do. And bloody hell, I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more. I know starting over sucks, but let’s face it, do you really want to stay as a bookstore clerk for another decade?”

“Well…not really.”

“Then go for it!”

Elias considered this for a long moment, then nodded – slow and hesitant at first, but then with growing enthusiasm. “You know what? I…I will. I’ll do it. I’ll take the job.”

“There ya go!” Rowan grinned, bright and broad, hoping Elias couldn’t see – couldn’t sense – the conflicted emotions settling into his chest like a weight on his ribs. He was happy of Elias, of course, and so damn proud of him. But, at the same time, it hurt a little. Elias was going to move on. Get a new job. A new flat. Rowan would be left in Devon with his crappy retail job and the flat and all its painful memories. “You can just transfer the flat into my name, if you want, it’d probably be easier to do…”

“Transfer the flat?” Elias frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it means you wouldn’t have to deal with ‘intent to vacate forms’ and I wouldn’t have to deal with finding a new place. Just a new roommate.” Rowan stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying to appear casual. “I’m sure there’s someone looking.”

Much to his surprise, Elias actually looked stung by the comment, as if Rowan had slapped him. It gave him pause, made him frown.

“What?”

“Rowan, I…I was going to ask you to come with me.”

“Wait, what?” Rowan shook his head, wondering if he’d misheard. “Seriously? You want me to come with you? To Bristol?”

“Yeah. I kinda do.” A flush spread up Elias’s neck and onto his cheeks; he dropped his head, clearly trying to hide it. “I mean, you don’t have to, of course, I know you have a job here and everything. But…well, it’d be nice to have a friendly face in Bristol.”

“Well…shit, Elias, I’m flattered!” Rowan beamed again, a feeling of relief swelling in his chest, leaving him feeling giddy and breathless from excitement. “Of course I’ll come with you, you git! I can’t let you have all the fun, after all!”

He threw his arms around Elias’s neck, closing his eyes and breathing out a sigh of relief. While he had once upon a time thought Elias was the one depending on him, he’d come to realize – particularly in the two years since they’d gone platonic – that he depended on Elias just as much. Even when they weren’t dating. The idea of sharing an apartment with anyone else was just too strange.

After a moment, Rowan broke away, mind whirring at a frantic pace. “How soon do they want you?”

“Well…as soon as possible, once I’ve given a definite answer.”

“Well then!” Rowan sprang towards the front door, grabbing his jacket while stuffing his feet into his trainers. Elias watched him, bemused.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“Well, if we’ve got to be in Bristol as soon as possible, we’re going to have to pack! We’ll need boxes!” Rowan grabbed his keys, shooting Elias an enthused grin. “There isn’t any time to waste!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a question about Rowan, Elias, or the Lunar Contagions? [Drop me a line!](http://celticwildechild.tumblr.com/ask)


	13. Pittsburgh - January 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elias finally comes clean about the fateful night.

Rowan couldn’t help but be a little grateful to the doctors at the hospital – and Alexsei, too, he supposed, for going to bat for him. He had officially been discharged from the hospital, though not without being given a referral to an orthopedist for his broken ankle and a doctor for the concussion, and given strict orders to rest and postpone touring again until the doctor cleared him. By all rights, he should only have been allowed to be in the hospital at Elias’s bedside during visiting hours. However, when the nurses came in when visiting hours were long over and found Rowan curled up in a stolen wheelchair next to his bed, they never said anything, only gave him a kind, sad sort of smile and gently squeezed past him to take Elias’s vitals.

Some part of him felt a little guilty. He and Elias were no longer mates. Elias had Lukas and Jocelyn now; by all rights, they should have been the ones staying late into the night, watching over Elias. And Rowan knew Aliria was worried sick about him, probably chomping at the bit to come and see him herself. He hadn’t called her since he’d woken up in the hospital. He’d been too worried about Elias.

In the three days since he’d been admitted, Elias had progressed enough that the doctors felt comfortable with moving him out of the ICU and into a general room. There had been a bit of consternation as to where to put him – given the state of his mental health, some felt he’d be better in psychiatric. He’d be safer. Rowan had – loudly and aggressively – protested that idea. In the end, they deemed a general room best. While Elias’s mental health may have led to what happened that night, he was not there because of mental instability.

And so, three and a half days after Elias’s admittance, Rowan was sitting in a chair next to his bed, leg propped up in a chair, idly flipping through a book. His head was pounding and he wanted to doze, but the itchiness of the cast on his leg made that impossible. Elias was dozing, bed propped up halfway; he’d spent the majority of his days dozing, a result of both the concussion and the morphine they’d put him on for the pain.

Rowan closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he actually fell asleep or had simply just drifted off for a moment, but he was jerked back to consciousness by the sound of a groan. He opened his eyes, finding Elias awake and looking at him – actually looking, with a spark of lucidity Rowan hadn’t seen since he’d hauled Elias out of the pond in Highland Park almost four days ago. He smiled.

“Hey, you,” he greeted. “Gonna actually stay awake this time?”

Elias groaned. “I…haven’t even been awake for…for five minutes and…and this is how you treat me?”

“You know you still love me.”

“I do. You little shit.” Elias glanced around, wincing as he did. “This…is a new room.”

“Yeah. They said you were doing well enough to come out of the ICU.” Rowan saw his wince, and sympathized. “Headache?”

“Everything hurts.” He closed his eyes again.

“I think there’s a nurse coming around to check your vitals soon. She might be able to give you something to help.” They hadn’t allowed Elias to be in charge of his own morphine drip. In retrospect, it was probably for the best.

“Mmm.” Elias opened his eyes, fixing them on Rowan. “What…what happened?”

All the breath left Rowan in one painful rush, and it was all he could do to stay upright in the wheelchair. But Elias had noticed his discomfort; his brow furrowed, and he tried to sit up a little straighter in his bed, gasping and crying out from the movement.

Alexsei came swooping into the room not even a minute later, flapping his arms at Elias and clucking more than a hen. “What do you think you’re doing? Are you out of your mind? Lay back down before you hurt yourself!”

“Alexsei, you do know you don’t actually work here, right?” Rowan asked, glad for a diversion to Elias’s question.

Alexsei shrugged. “Sometimes I forget.”

Elias turned his attention back to Alexsei, settling back into his bed with a groan. “Alexsei…what happened?”

Alexsei frowned, looking to Rowan. “He doesn’t know?”

“Doesn’t remember, most likely,” Rowan said, looking away from Alexsei’s inquisitive gaze, focusing intently on his cast.

“You didn’t tell him?”

“Tell…tell me what?” Elias asked, looking back and forth between the two of them.

“Rowan,” Alexsei said softly, voice laced with empathy, “he deserves to know.”

There was a tight knot of emotions rising in Rowan’s throat, threatening to choke him. He swallowed it down as best as he could, feeling tears sting his eyes. He shook his head.

“I…I can’t…”

Neither Alexsei nor Elias said anything, but, a moment later, Alexsei quickly left the room. Elias reached out, taking Rowan’s hand, giving it a little reassuring squeeze. Rowan sighed, looking up at him reluctantly. He did deserve the truth. It would hurt them both, sure – hurt Rowan to tell and hurt Elias to hear. But he had to tell him. Maybe he’d learn something from it.

“Well,” Rowan began, “evidently, something crawled into your head and died there, because you took off halfway through the meet-and-greet. Drank the entire mini-bar in Lukas and Jocey’s room, probably staggered your way through a few bars after that, and then meandered your drunk ass to Highland Park and proceeded to fall into the pond. I found you there, brought you to Alexsei, and…”

He trailed off. Beyond that was the horrific part of that night. The part he didn’t want to relive.

_And then you stopped breathing. And then your heart stopped beating the right way. And then Alexsei had to shock you and I threw up in the hallway and watched the paramedics take you away and cried harder than I ever cried because I thought you were going to die on your way to the hospital and I was going to lose you. I was going to lose part of my soul._

“And then I fell down the stairs,” he concluded lamely.

Elias looked stricken. Rowan sighed; he had figured that was what would happen, that was the response he was going to get, but…God, that expression was just so painful to see.

“Oh God…” Elias murmured.

“Yeah.”

“Oh God…”

Elias, what happened?” he asked. “Please. Something set you off really bad, and…I need to know what. I need to know what so it won’t happen again.”

He shook his head, pressing his back against the bed, trying to appear smaller. His entire body was tense, eyes wide in his pale face. “I can’t…”

“Elias, please…”

“R-Rowan, I…I can’t…”

He’d never gotten any less stubborn in the more than twenty years since they’d gone platonic. Rowan sighed, sinking back into his chair with a frustrated grunt. He wanted to help Elias. And he knew he was scared – God, he understood that. But the overwhelming stubbornness was going to be the death of Elias one day.

It took a few minutes of silence – or, as close as one could get to silence in a hospital – for Rowan to realize that he was being a bit hypocritical. He hadn’t told Elias the entire truth about what had happened that night. And he hadn’t told him because he was scared. There was something not entirely right about him being upset with Elias for not telling him everything when he hadn’t been entirely truthful.

“You stopped breathing.”

The words got out before Rowan could even think about how to break it to him gently. He looked up; Elias sat as frozen on the bed as if he’d been made of stone. Now that he’d delivered the initial blow, the rest of the words came tumbling out.

“You stopped breathing. Your heart, it…it wasn’t beating right. I had to go get an AED for Alexsei, that’s how I fell down the stairs. I was so fucking scared…Alexsei said it was organ failure, because your body temperature was too low or some medical shit like that. You were dying, Elias.”

Elias hadn’t made a move or a sound; he was staring at Rowan with a terrifyingly blank look. Rowan grabbed his hand with both of his, clutching it, tears making his eyes burn and sting.

“Elias, please…p-please don’t make me do that again. Please don’t…don’t do that to me again, I…fuck, I was so afraid you were going to die and…a-and I wasn’t going to be there for you in the e-end, and I was going to l-let you down…”

He pressed his lips together, trying to hold back a sob. He brought Elias’s hand first to his lips, then to his forehead, hot tears sliding down his cheeks and dripping onto the stark hospital bedding.

“I’m sorry…”

Rowan looked up. Elias’s head was bowed, gaze fixed on the bedding. His free hand was clutching at the scratchy hospital blanket with a white-knuckled grip; Rowan opened his mouth to say something, but the words died on his lips when Elias spoke.

“At the meet-and-greet…there was a man, he…he handed me an envelope.” He took a deep breath. “There was a picture inside – me, Lukas, and Jocelyn at Times Square, for the New Year’s Eve thing…” Now, his hands were shaking, and Rowan stroked his thumb back and forth across the back of the one, trying to soothe him. “There was a…oh God, there was a note, too…”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Rowan said, feeling his stomach churn anxiously at the thought of what could have been written on that note, what could have scared Elias so badly.

“‘Are they next?’ That’s all it said, Rowan. Are they next?”

“God…” It explained it. Explained what would have freaked Elias out so badly. A note like that, a note that brought back all those painful memories for Elias, all that fear. “Who sent it? Who sent that…that awful message to you?”

Elias finally looked up at him, eyes wet with tears, a heartbreaking expression on his face.

“Isabelle.”

Rowan thought he might be sick. Or throw a chair. Or…something. Isabelle Kersley. Elias’s only living child, his own flesh and blood. Last they’d seen of her, she had been shackled hand and foot, awaiting extradition to the ICE headquarters in New York – and he knew she hadn’t escaped, he would have heard. So…

“How?”

“I…I don’t know.” Elias was openly crying now, making no attempt to wipe the tears from his face. “I d-don’t know, but…she did…she did, oh God…”

Rowan’s free hand clenched, nails pricking into his palm, anger flaring in his chest. _How dare she_ , he thought, _that psychotic bitch, what gives her the fucking right to say that? She has no right to say that to Elias!_

_But_ …there was a small, sad voice in his head, one that cut through the haze of anger, that told him _she has every right. She has the only right_. Isabelle had been there the night Elias had gone mad. She had been young, only nine or ten, but…somehow, she’d escaped Elias and his insensible rage. The two younger children, Magdalene and Sebastian, hadn’t been as fortunate.

She’d never forgiven Elias.

Some small part of Rowan couldn’t blame her. And he hated himself for feeling that way.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he said, voice quiet but fierce.

“I did…”

“You listen here, Elias.” With a grunt of pain as he jostled his broken leg, Rowan reached out to grab Elias’s other hand. “I know you fucked up real bad. But that’s in the past. You never meant for it to happen, I know, but you have to move past it. Look at what you have now. You have two of the most gorgeous, talented, kind-hearted goofballs in the world as your lovers. You have a job most people would only dream about. You have fans that love and care about you. You had me, for all the years we had together.” He swallowed hard. “You still have me. Cause like it or not, I’m with you for the long run, mate.”

A squeak of shoes on the tile floor alerted Rowan to the fact that he and Elias weren’t alone. Looking over his shoulder, he found that a nurse had entered the room, chart in hand – with Elias’s name on it, Rowan could see from the label – and stethoscope hanging around her neck. She paused on the threshold of the room, looking at the two of them with uncertainty.

“Is…everything alright?” she asked.

“Yeah, yeah, s’fine,” Elias choked out, wiping at his face.

“I need to take your vitals,” she said, still looking uncertain. “If you wouldn’t mind, ah…stepping out?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Rowan unlocked the wheels, wheeling himself out of the room. A thought was blooming in his mind, and he needed to see a certain someone. Fortunately, they let him continue to use a hospital wheelchair, because the crutches they gave him were cumbersome and a pain in the ass to try to get around on.

He found Alexsei in a waiting room down the hall, talking quietly on the phone. As soon as Rowan rolled up to him, he quietly bid the person on the other end of the line a quiet goodbye and hung up.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, peachy. Listen, I have a favor to ask you.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Do you guys keep databases or anything like that at the ICE?”

“Yes.” Alexsei frowned. “Why?”

“Any chance I could get you to look into any known accomplices of Isabelle Kersley?”

“Isabelle Kersley?” Alexsei’s brow furrowed. “You mean…Elias’s daughter? The one we have in custody for those murders?”

“No, the other one.” When Alexsei’s expression in response to Rowan’s sarcasm didn’t change, he sighed. “Yes, that one.”

“Are you saying…are you saying she was behind Elias’s, ah..?”

“Someone else did it for her,” Rowan said. “Someone was her delivery boy. But am I saying she masterminded the entire thing? You’re goddamn right I am.”

“Rowan…what are you planning on doing?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Rowan…”

“I’m not going to kill her, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said. “Merely making sure this isn’t a repeated experience.”

“Rowan…”

“Alexsei.” He leaned forward, a hand on the arm of Alexsei’s chair. He felt exhausted and haggard, and he was sure it showed in his face. “Alexsei, please…please don’t ask me to go through a night like that again. I’ve been through some shit with him, but…God, I won’t survive another night like that…”

Alexsei sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. It was in that moment, when Alexsei’s composed doctoring demeanor slipped, that Rowan realized that Alexsei had probably slept as little as he had in the past three days. Much like Rowan, he had spent most of his time at the hospital, clucking over Elias – much to the disdain of the doctors who worked there.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he finally said.

Rowan breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Alexsei. For…everything. Thank you.”

“I’m just glad everything came out okay in the end,” Alexsei said with a tired smile.

“Yeah,” Rowan agreed.

But everything wasn’t okay. There was one thought, stuck on an endless, repeating loop in his mind – Elias had stopped breathing. He had almost died.

“Everything’s not okay, is it?”

Alexsei was looking at him, looking at him in that way that seemed to pierce right through him. He bowed his head, staring down at his lap and trying not to cry. God, he was so tired of crying.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Rowan couldn’t look at him. “I almost lost him…”

“I know.” Alexsei’s voice was gentle. “I know.”

“Alexsei…” The tears were falling freely now. “What if it hadn’t worked? What if we hadn’t been able to get his heart beating normally again? What if we hadn’t done CPR on him quickly enough? What if he…if he had..?”

“Shhh.” Alexsei took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I know it’s hard to think about. But look. Everything came out okay. Elias is alright. He’ll be okay.”

“But what if we’re not quick enough next time?”

“Hey.” Alexsei placed a finger under his chin, lifting it. “I thought you said there wasn’t going to be a next time?”

“I…I guess I did…”

“Then we’re going to make sure there isn’t one,” Alexsei said. “For your sake as much as his.”

Rowan sniffled, almost choking on his snot in the process. “Thanks, Alexsei…”

“Of course.” Alexsei stood. “You want to go back to his room?”

“Please?”

“Of course.” He came behind Rowan’s wheelchair, taking the hand grips. “Here. I’ll come with you.”

Rowan nodded, settling back into the chair and allowing Alexsei to wheel him down the hallway, back to Elias’s room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a question about Rowan, Elias, or the Lunar Contagions? [Drop me a line!](http://celticwildechild.tumblr.com/ask)


	14. Bristol - August 2002

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter - for both Rowan and Elias.

“Alright, I think that’s the last of it…”

“I should bloody hope so,” Elias grunted, setting one last box down, on top of a stack that was to go to the post to be shipped. “You’re moving to a flat, not a bloody palace.”

Rowan grinned. All the final arrangements had been made, paperwork signed, I’s dotted and t’s crossed. In a little more than a day, he’d be settling into a cozy little flat in Portland, Maine, just a few blocks from the University of Southern Maine. A few blocks from his new life, a new and exciting journey.

Initially, when he’d first gotten serious about college – and about the University of Southern Maine, in particular – he’d just planned on living on campus. He’d told Elias as much – he wouldn’t have to worry about getting lost, being in an unfamiliar town, especially in an unfamiliar country; he’d also be on-campus and close to the events, close to the opportunities to meet people and make friends.

It wasn’t until Elias had pointed out that living on-campus most likely meant he’d be sharing a room with some spotty eighteen-year-old puke who still doused himself in body spray instead of bathing on a regular basis that he reconsidered the notion.

In the end, he settled onto a vacant room in an apartment with two twenty-something blokes, one in a graduate program at the university, the other working in the city. They seemed nice enough, and excited to have him moving in. Things were going to be good.

But at the same time…

Rowan looked back up at the townhouse he and Elias had been sharing for the last eleven years, and breathed a heavy sigh. There were a lot of good things that had happened here, in the townhouse – he’d discovered a love of music in working at an instrument shop. Tried his hand at several instruments and found out he was bloody awful at most of them, although he was passable on guitar. Discovered in his experimenting that Elias wasn’t too bad on drums. He’d bought Elias a drum set for his birthday a few years previously, and had lost out on quite a few naps in doing so. But he didn’t mind, because he saw it helping Elias. He had an outlet for his negative emotions. And Rowan had a gauge for what kind of day he was having – if he disappeared into the basement and was banging on the drums in a particularly aggressive fashion, Rowan knew that meant he was having a bad day.

“Can’t believe you’re actually going,” Elias said, tucking his hands into his pockets, his voice a little wistful.

“Yeah,” Rowan said, a knot forming in his stomach. That was the one thing he’d worried about the most – that he wouldn’t be around, wouldn’t be there to help Elias through his bad days. Wouldn’t be there to help him. It had kept him up more nights than he cared to admit.

Elias must have sensed Rowan’s worry, for he took a hand out of his pocket, taking Rowan’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “Hey. You’re going to have a great time. You’re going to love it there, I know you will. It’s going to be great.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

Little did Rowan know that he would be asking the same question fourteen years later, as a nurse wheeled Elias out of the hospital in Pittsburgh, Rowan hobbling along next to him on a pair of crutches. He didn’t know then how relieved he would be that, after nearly two weeks, they’d finally decided that Elias was ready to be discharged. He didn’t know how much the memory of that night would still hurt, didn’t know that the fear of it would still wake him up at night, leaving him shaking and crying into a pillow until he eventually fell back asleep.

And, just as he would fourteen years later, on his way out of the hospital in Pittsburgh, Elias squeezed his hand reassuring, giving him one of his shy little smiles, a spark of something in his eyes that made Rowan dare to have some hope.

“Yeah. I’m going to be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you guys enjoyed!
> 
> Got a question about Rowan, Elias, or the Lunar Contagions? [Drop me a line!](http://celticwildechild.tumblr.com/ask) You can also [listen to Rowan and Elias's Spotify playlist here!](https://open.spotify.com/user/celticaurora/playlist/0xWTmy8DGhvMFGVZ37Q1Mr)


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